Everywhere

The bastards are everywhere
Like lice or locusts
They come and go
In swarms

Chop off their heads and three more grow back
They are indestructible
Immune to poison gas and cyanide
To reason and moderation

Is there peace?
Or solitude?
Or silence?
A moment to commune with God or the Big Dipper?

Does anything we do matter?
To what do all the tears and agony amount
When we’re dust in a box in the ground?

The bastards are everywhere,
Turn around,
You’ll see