crossed out with tiny lightbulbs,
shattering across a forest of weeds
the king of the spirit has been called,
ye druggists have inspired religion. prophets

and quiet as a pindrop on the moment of impact
the silent filmstar begins to speak, hello.
the screen would spontaneously combust that day,
his pornography a leg above the knee.
this is lurid, and your motives for silence are no more
moral than the filth that you bathe your mind in.

snap. it is dark. snap. it is light.
blink. it is dark. blink. see, blind man. see.

and with a frantic movement of stacatto and marcato the
applause sets up a colossal prophesy that only the lunatic
down the road could fulfill, the flickering of hope written
in a diary, crossed out with tiny lightbulbs.
ye druggists have inspired martyrdom.

11/02/2003

Posted on 11/03/2003
Copyright © 2024 Andrew S Adams