And out of the ashes

Out of the ashes,
rose a helicopter. 
An unwelcome phoenix. 

Surveillance feeds on death.
Grows stronger each time we mourn.
Learns to be more nimble each time it feeds.

Each murder, a thinly veiled fundraiser.

A vehicle to assuage guilt,
an admonishment with adornments,
A pittance for our pain—

—And, somehow, a payday to a patronizing protection racket.

The long arm of the law extends itself
to tuck us in with a sniper rifle, after a 6 hour stand off,
Sings us a 9 second lullaby in the dead of night, and now we sleep forever.

I wonder,
How an agency can have the tools to zoom in close enough to see the crust in my eyes
Yet still somehow manage to get the wrong person, so often. 

It’s almost like,
The cruelty is the point 
A wink and a nod to their homies, to let them know they still got it.

They watch us mourn in 4K.
Show force to “keep peace” 
like an ugly victory lap

But don’t worry, the speeches will be so pretty y’all!
The statements will be strongly worded,
the censures will be swift and, still, hollow. 

That’s how it works, right?
Pithy sayings turn into a police state?
The phoenix’s wings make the windows rattle at night as a reminder to grieve silently.

They see us, 
and we should be thankful
or else.