My stomach aches and my legs feel the cold on the rocks I'm walking;
This evening I see my team crash to the chaos train as the motorways begin to shrill
And incite a gathering crowd to some religion -
It is not true: whatever is happening.
But the condiments,
And all the paean they're singing,
Will build a temple tomorrow -
Where we'll close our eyes
And sleep - and reverberate.
My heroes are there on palisades -
The ghastly blitz has taken their luster off;
Now the teeming of mellow hands
Won't aid or conjure
Their last dusky and temperate dream:
When they had their last rapacious breath.
-
The arbiter now watches the children grow relaxed and unconcerned -
I was the children relaxed and unconcerned.
-
Our juggernaut follows nothing but customs
Alloyed by love posited and love in-taken.
-
The pyramid erects without my name.
I - 19-year-old - stand assessing the hours' movement
To prevent the steady, vigorous, docile bodies from losing their mouth
When jacked warding us: an ardent prisoner of birth.
(I doubt I'll be able to die for beauty.)
-
This evening is seldom -
I stop at the decline of this once overtly gay town.
And laugh and loaf about my impairment.
This world has cited,
This should go down to history well.
-
I forget my name.
My team can help, but they can never overcome me.
I can range from the darkest juncture to loving the turning of the sun;
Not easily upset by terror days till it's scarce for me; till it jabs me.
In turn,
I can let the madmen fight;
I can lie, I can run to the forest -
I can eventually die, naked.
I can even tell you that I've taken part.
-
On hate...
My friend - he hates someone;
He's masticating and his tongue reverbs
What I've had him, spectacularly -
"You're fine," he says.
But there's nothing more I can prove -
This is just one infidel army.
At the end of the day,
The lessons will taste like bricks.
We'll instead have feast on sawdust.
-
I vomit -
I become hysterical and superbly useless.
