flocks in wolfs clothing

your multitasking techno tools
have thrown your towels all in
filling hours with lectro movements
and screens with cursed art trends
the doorways too seldom pass you
those prisoners of programs and walls
grounds wait for all our footsteps
skies unseen hold mute birdcalls

your socks are soiled and threadbare
as sandals ignored fill with dust
your hair’s some brand new color
‘cause your iron will’s full of rust
the digital clock hums on nightstand
makes no ticking as time flies
handless pointing to fleeting hours
while taxes pay for violent lies
believed by only those who uttered them
who take the toll and greed smooth cries
and the masses bleed to pay the piper
bleating softly through wolf guise

(wrote this after hearing Procol Harum's "Homburg" this afternoon)