© By Boinkaz
walking faster to a run
anklet chains chime to rising wind
alone together we all wear orange
and nothing rhymes with it.
a menagerie of intention & belief
made curios in painted alabaster
we’re set to fester in our billions
on sheafs of pornography & religion.
we stare through long imagined space
cast eyes across tectonic plates
spinning swift on graphite pencils
thank god we don’t all know our place.
this archipelago against apocalypse
grows smaller as the waters rise
signal fires warm our hill forts
yet they find no compromise–>
the thrashing waves of compliance
a tsunami mumble of even tones
leaves the wicked in good standing
while they monitor our phones.
what piebald beast we face,
slouching towards his computer screen
earning all our scorn:
the fanatic & his sudden acts
whose banal story ends like hard punctuation.
And the smug & well-connected fool
with his presumptions of ordered society
and pretensions to penitence.
We wisk our lives in an illusion of freedom
yet they fulminate in illusion of control.
May our courage face & bleed them
our arms are waving from the shoals.
An earlier draft of this poem appeared at a really cool blog full of poetry & short fiction. You should check it out right here: http://artisoursickness.wordpress.com