Doubt

The constant rain pouring

doubt like acid

Like a spear

(for the misfits and the core nucleus alike)

to topple any tyrant with

to dream a way through

and eat the concrete

of the throne of streets

and hide on the outside

where there still are

untrodden fields

and the trees grow

there, under the pouring doubt

concrete

Then and again

shrouded in static grey

cocooned and contorting

in petrified skin

that cannot but crack

and torrents of blood flow

in those ravines

that tear the land

a new face

every day.