Two Bullets For Each Cure

We pile it on
Hoping to convince ourselves
The trashcans will hold
A little bit more
And soon
We will be able to
Bury the entire planet
In the hole
We have dug

Betting our latest religion
Will manufacture
A savior more genuine
Than the moon
Sun
And those
Who already
Tried and died
Throughout the centuries

I once found
More faith in the eyes
Of a catfish’s severed head
Than on the pages
Of these
Blind prophets