surgical mask missiles

The Yahweh Quas Papa Speaks (redux)

I was made for plague times!
For the days weeks months — for the plague year!

It’s the time for auxiliary malarial canons 
and sitars. 

Thee minute for surgical mask missiles 
and tinctures of Ayahuasca. 

It’s time for stockpiled respirators 
and acid-laced fuzz boxes & distortion pedals — 

(Just stay away from the vocoder — don’t put that in your mouth! They have Pro Tools for that now.)

Spread your misery and pestilence over me,
broadcast it worldwide.

Spread the fusty 1970s ventilators out in an arc
and count the cobwebs on the outtake valves.

It’s the moment for snake oil salesmen &
“teetotalitarianists” & insider stock traders —
and don’t call me a wog because
I take my Viyaya Anand & Asha Bosle on the 45.

Aren’t you glad someone you knew and loved
didn’t live to see this moment?

I am.

image: arnold arboretum

“Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?”

— Elizabeth Alexander / “Praise Song for the Day”

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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