Democrat, Illinois - The ElectroLounge

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How & why.
lxix.
World boils in blood, another mix, waves of rant & fist, I listen & hear other
centuries last & next, speak raw to power some cry, others delude with desire for the
perfection of crown,
I slap lightly the pines along my way, world boils in blood, & comics praise
something big & obviously missed, crowds push spitting through the market, the sun rises
for noone & everything—
Put a coin in his hand, I try this & again but how many & why, what of the wellsuited
blank face? I don’t know worse, world boils in blood, often quietly, hid, smug,
terrified,
I think how? why? what next? Praise my lover for her stretching hands & blooming
mind, put a coin in his hand as we walk along, I do not explain what she already knows,
world boils in blood, my dreams bang hard within to spatter our morning pillow—
Merchant wrap the stench & call it a prize to the moving crowds, world boils in
blood, put a coin into his hands, this pen will try to sing into the last bed & beyond,
conjure, conjure, up, up, along, cliffs from beyond above this sudden beach alone I stand,
ocean here too, ocean forever, stars & waves, the sweets of that other life linger, the pains
like pebbles & here they may be tossed off—
Kings sober to many centuries of boiling blood, mounds of bones, cities & empires
burned down with a mad glee called God, his hand is open like his eyes, coins belong on
both, he is a stench like every other hero—
What the prize? Escape? Embrace? Conquest? High spasm all night in movements, a
hip thrust here, a hand dug in there, do you know how crazy all this is? Why do you hang
on, do the wheezing roaring drums within hold you so beloved of your gravity & your decay?
“Hey, they’re on TV!”
“Aww, I thought our show was on!”
“It is. It’s both!”
“Look at that!”
“Our lord is fevered phantasm in a brutal race’s bestial mind! We rage for
some other to sanctify our bloody biddings! Some great power we devote our
sacred crimes to! Our prayers crack with the crush of skull & exhale with the
iniquitous ending of the small & the weak!
“We have invented our lord & now we are ruled by this foul creation,
slave to tomes of useless enigma, give us back our will to lightness & song!”
“Hush up, old man! Your friends are on TV!”
A cane swings wildly but pointedly within a heavy breath of the drinker’s head.