Desaturated Rants

Behind doorknobs of filed fingernails
And outreached shadows of pointing
Inside coffins of musty rag bodies
Blue-collared shirts, slacks, laced shoes
Choke ties, and straight-jacket apparel
Locked in silver frames in the face of a
Desaturated, contrasted,  blur of a man
Woman, child, seedling, zygote, or cell
Is a scared, runaway mind of stiff tears
And oil-painted polished ideals, trembling
At the earthquakes of change and tumbling
Debris of relapse, new-age technology
As the static-rain televisions they saw through
Disappear behind thin high-definition screens of
Youth thinking and blueprint designs
They see us digging holes in the moonlight
To bury old family photos, bibles, worn
Chess sets, ancestors, and genetics
Because we shun upon incest
As we search the plains, mountains,
And waters for a Crayola box
Of brides, mixing and matching colors
Until all shades blend into the same
Carmel drawn society they all fear
And we will continue digging until are bones
Are as fractured as theirs, dissolving
As the morning breeze presses against us
Slamming our hands into house doors, shatter.
And our kids turn the knob to repeat the process