all the drops of water are equally wet

all the drops of water are

equally wet,

from the surface to the depths

of despair:

it's always in the air

we breathe,

the food we eat,

the smiles that greet,

and the tired hands

of revolutionary bands

playing music overtime for a cent or two,

but only just a few.

nothing new

to the fox

running free, 

outside his box,

hunting for the mice 

who are rolling their own dice

in an orgy of self-love,

to keep the anger in,

as they manufacture a cheesy grin

with a 5 o'clock shadow of doubt,

wondering what the commotion is all about,

with whiskers on the tip of each nose

to show which way the wind blows,

most are hiding from the sounding waves,

squeezing behind the quiet of their graves,

looking for a drop to drink,

hoping not to permanently sink

into a darkness where they no longer think.