a sudden stall

this smells of
sex and death;
commonplace trash
nursed through the leaves
                                          of a tree
                           on a day
                                   much like Spring,
                           but on a Winter's morn
                           lapping through a cove
                           of sunlight
this way and that.
              through the thick
                           of it:
      some warped view
                  upon the
                       lapping tongue
         of
               public opinion
that becomes drowned out
            by
                 a new howl,
           morphing
                        into
          a better view
          from a dark room
          where no light
                                shines
and the moon is as dead
as our perception
          of
               yesterday.
    tongues mocking tongues
              in an
                    all out war
without the necessity
              of reason
                             above
                                       argument.
we have gone so far
                         as to
                              blur the lines
            and no one believes
                            in right or wrong.
this is how
                  it is
                         when we
               deserve
a slap in the face
                   for having believed
          any of it
                        in the first place.