Atop the pyramids
vetted in armor
and awake
by the stoney
mockery that whips
us all into
self-idolized versions
of our own distaste
I sat
for sometime
waiting for the wells to dry out.
With grave certainty they did
and are
and with the
tripped taste of dirt in
my mouth and its
corollary effects
I spoke, not to be heard
by any man other than myself.
Shortly before,
Venus shattered the moon
and arrows shot
with sand in their fletching
their way into my heart
and disturbed the temples
I had worked so hard to build,
the self-anointed
self-replicating
self-serving blasphemous
ideologues told me it was either
too problematic
or too narrow-minded
to keep my wits about me so
I swatted them all away,
but like those fleas biting my ankles
turning my skin on itself
I succumbed to the taste of hysteria
the nectar of those administrators
and artists
and professors
whose negligible eyes cannot
begin to pierce the veil of materiality
if he who wielded the sword did it for them.
As a result,
their benefactors
reclaimed some right
to guide us to divinity
and forgiveness
before a basin of sin
where in our own reflections we
stamped out like brush fires
the truth of one
another in exchange for myth
and bartered our guilt
for gold,
demanded pittance
for slashing our own throats and
tossing them to the hordes
as feed.
As if we didn’t know
what it would all lead to
the need for addressing our
own suspicion became
a mountain of despair
and hard work
with no rest
years of outwitting one another in games
like spelling bees
and the losers then,
had all subjected themselves to
some worthwhile amount
of shame and embarrassment
while with tails between legs
they chased one another
teasing them out until
the shame turned to rage
and multiplied to take
the name of action
whereby they cut the King’s tongue
and forced it back down his own throat
thus when he shit
we consumed it
like the delicacy it was.
Ninth PIG