Tertium Non Datur

All the sucked thumbs and held skirts and blankets
so secure that they block out the sweep of the floodlights
that could free them from the darkness that surrounds them.
From the demons that keep hounding them and gouge their eyes
until all they can see are rigid dichotomies of the sacred and the profane.
Of salvation or shame with fuck all in between.
The human impulse to explain hijacked:
a controlled flight into terrain to ensure
no passenger ever makes any connection
between the proscription of mystery and their malaise.
Tidy pairings of inverse binaries. We all seek meaning in our lives,
but when every shadow of doubt is denied
the sanctification of hatred thrives
on every sucked thumb and held skirt and blanket
so secure that they block out the sweep of the floodlights
that could free us from the darkness that surrounds us.
The demons that keep hounding us.
We put out our own eyes and reproach the blind.