eating the universe (redux)

Exiles In the Land of Kakistocracy

I.  A Conversation in the Time of Galamatias:

Our salad days are filled with bitter herbs and intractable roots —
Not so much a salad, but a melange
Of weeds and thistles —
Indelicate things in our mouths.

Every bite a mouthful of rot and offal —
Awful offal.

The kakistocracy is installed in the cupboards
The cups are off on a two week vacation in Wuhan.
We are mystified and malnourished.

Now I’ve had my wine…
And you look better than you did twenty minutes ago.

And you say:
The sky is a massive hole tonight —
My precious lucida is eating the universe:
Inside-out.

I can lay down and go to sleep.

The lights are receding
And the darkness is strangely pleasing.

II.  The Death of Tane:

Then there was the sickness —
So hot.

The vault of heaven darker —
Then darker —
A black sun —
At end.

It was succeeded by the shadow
Of the shadow —
Spreading —
Nearer and nearer to the pin prick
Of light —
Destroyed.

To the west—
distant—
A white effluent
Soft and yielding
Bounds off.

III.  Passage:

Crossing guards cane a woman.
She stopped traffic —
She wore a mask
She needed a cuddle —
She shook —
She hollered:
“You there, take this…”
Her eyes closed.

The wind appeared pink.

“Your mother buggered 
little boys and girls!”

“She’s a ghost,”
My mother said —

“Alone —”
As she squeezed my neck.

“Goodbye,” I cried.

IV.  Coulrophobia In The Land Kakistocracy:

Clowns are spotted in the Carolina gloaming —
Clowns with knives at the edges
Of dark woods.

I met an old man who loved
A woman who —
In whispers —
Had recently died.

He recounted his harrowing nights
Raising his hands at
An unfamiliar country.

Without spotting an actual person —
He spent lonely days
Encircled by clowns —
And a stranger…
We can not discuss.

Painful moments in our pockets.

I saw groups staring up —
Untethered —
Lost —
Exiles.

They looked small in comparison with
This Curious Refraction.

V.  A Violent Force:

Corybantic priests run —
Amuck through prickly weeds —
Bloody hands full of entrails
Chased by their sacrificial lambs and
Headless corpses —
With empty chest cavities —
Whose names were not happily chosen.

Among the monticules of ashes —
Lie dismembered heads
Mouths stuffed with testicles.

And the stranger —
Bright and Barren —
Grows stronger —
Triumphant.

“And I wondered, not for the first time, what patriotism is, what the love of country truly consists of, how that yearning loyalty that had shaken my friend’s voice arises, and how so real a love can become, too often, so foolish and vile a bigotry. Where does it go wrong?”

— Ursula K. Le Guin / The Left Hand of Darkness

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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