1937

The first person escapes
And multiplies

It leaks from the walls of the poem
Into circulation, it shoots first

It grabs a hostage
And starts issuing statements

We watch the first person
Come down from the hills

We share the indignation
Of the newspaper columnists

How can we stop this senseless rampage
Are we really at the mercy

Of this lone gunman
This box truck, this white van

We can't even buy gas anymore
Without running into the kwik-e-mart

For slim jims and bazzini nuts
How's that for emasculation

Suddenly it occurs to one of us
To start a speedcore band

We call ourselves Polis Ex Machina
The showtrial docudrama soundtrack

Is one hundred percent us