Hollow Men Wobbling

I've been thinking about the impact of an illusive society on the every-day workings of the ordinary human mind, and this is all I can come up with for now:

I’ve heard it told: we dream only the face or farce of those already sketched in red;
and yet within my plots I’ve made the deaths of many faceless men,
as Kings are picked for honest, self-while servitude, we break paying rent caught in traps of debt,
one final lie to send us slow receipt.

On this day alone, starlets shine harsh upon us, sitting tight as serfdom queens
ensconced amongst nomadic noblemen:
a caring friend regales us, orating strips of Swedenborg and other well intended money-making schemes.

As we reap cheap flexing capital, vendors on the scene serve gourmet corn chips.

We sip on rusty soda cans, and watch on as a lame man struggles with his
television readiness �" our mood now takes turn for the grim.

I’m thinking in two places, my mouth utters hollow worlds my eyes wobble fixed to pre-mixed screens.
In a moment trepidation will hit us and in private we’ll construct weak ideologues with which to whitewash all accountability.