my god is a benevolent god, but I am not
a benevolent man; to decry this as a contradiction
is too simple for a sophisticated world;

every warrior wields a weapon, and the chief
assigns one loose cannon to each interrogation, else
who trusts the information the good cop gleans –

he stretches his legs, when he must, to preserve
his reputation; those avatars of justice stand
away-enough from unflattering light, so citizens

continue to admire the luster of brass buckles
and silver commendations in soft, warm tones;
we others wash our calloused hands and fail

to recall lover’s contours beneath our fingertips –
and do not ask how it felt – we have filled these voids
with zeal, righteousness, uncompromising politics;

these off-the-shelf components keep us close-enough
to human while we listen to the powerful pander, or inspire
fear in something higher/equal to themselves, so they

build a pyre in their honor and call for converts,
knowing: one lures fewer flies with vinegar
than with honey, but fire attracts anything, draws

the basest to most cognitive creatures towards
the promise of warmth; or, if the ranks fail to file, gently
remind the sluggish citizenry that anything will burn.