I - Above ground
The old stones of these city streets
Slowly wearing away:
Foundations and philosophies,
The high ideals of the Humanities
We sacrificed each other upon,
Becoming slippery and smooth
With each aeon’s steps,
Declarations composed
Heads cut off
The terrifying hunger of the Crowds
For meaning
For belonging
For celebration
For something beautiful
- Or just warm -
To hold on to,
Crawl into,
Shaking the gates and calling for bread and heads!
HEADS AND BREAD!
Blood and spirit -
The former often preferred as something one can have, now,
Take home,
Own;
Exalting heroism and idiocy over everything
Is His Story of omissions and half truths
Where perhaps we were just hungry.
Tired and hungry.
To hold on to,
Crawl into,
Shaking the gates and calling for bread and heads!
HEADS AND BREAD!
Blood and spirit -
The former often preferred as something one can have, now,
Take home,
Own;
Exalting heroism and idiocy over everything
Is His Story of omissions and half truths
Where perhaps we were just hungry.
Tired and hungry.
II - Underground
Bodies
Disappear around bends in tunnels:
People alone together in mag-lev cars,
Hearts alive and open
Yet safer as anonymous strangers.
It’s easier to not connect lest we become overwhelmed.
Is this what we War and Battle and Revolution for?
Linger a little on each line as we wait on the platform:
The flow of Love
Punctuated only by temporal moments of forgetful vitriol.
The world always warms up a little just after lunch.
Blood, then. And heads.
Desperate.
In the name of meaning and
Manifestoes of believing.
His Story, it seems,
Serves only as a story of the violence of things.
- Paris 2025
