From my mouth, an egg.
From the egg, a monster,
wearing a wet, sticky veil.
Above: the sun, stupid, cancerous.
Below: everything.
Below: my monster, full of a ravenous emptiness.
Let there be summer, never-endingly.
Let there be my monster,
consuming one, and one, and one.
Let there be lawyers and elected officials.
Let there be a rot-bog of stench and glory.
Let my monster be Lord of it.
Let the language of my monster's groans ascend,
come deluge, come Judgement.
Let my monster's instant of joy be cemented.
From my mouth, a new history.
From this history, another monster,
dwarfing the first one, and less merciful.
_______
Can I join the band. I'm sucker for a good rant.
ReplyDeleteVery Cranish, though I think quite pricey and not a knock-off. You make me think not just of a seasonal malaise, or a natural phase of the planet's cycle, but of something distorted and wrong that consumes itself as well as everything around it, something that is inner, but also exterior and apart from the speaker who has birthed it in such an unnatural fashion. Eerie and uneasy read. (Tags are perfect.)
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ReplyDelete"a rot-bog of stench and glory" is quite a phrase, and the last three words carry quite a wallop as well.
Above: the sun, stupid, cancerous.
ReplyDeleteAh, summer. Also, winter. All. So.
Oh, this is cool!
ReplyDeleteYou build brick by brick solidly.
ReplyDeleteBut your bricks are golden, and some sapphire, some tungsten.
Glad I know you. Your fan,
Aloha
Oh. They are singing bricks.
ReplyDeleteThey sing to me
Wowzers. This packs a wallop indeed.
ReplyDeleteYikes! Intense. You exhibit such poetic versatility.
ReplyDeleteThis is perfect in every way.
ReplyDeleteOh, now that's an interesting take on the rant. Love your twist.
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