The Perversion of Utopia

who will call out the hubris of the new normal,
the deliberate perversion of utopia,
the ratio of distension between wallet and starvation,
the buried congruence of hunger and unresolved rage?
who will point a finger at the new naked emperors,
at the impossible distortion of equality,
at the sea lapping longer and louder at its shores,
the dead dying slowly in its barren womb?
who will pluck the feathers from this sky of burning metal,
where the last blue mangles in the smog of twisted grey,
where the new normal croons with a red lipped pout
and disembodied hands deliver a standing applause?
who will give me reason to hide life in a secret box
when humanity buries itself everyday in unmarked graves,
when the eternal beloved who pours wine in my carafe
denies my whirling rapture, intoxicated by his own tears?