Singular Revolution

A revolution of the self leads to...?

the car door slams

and I quake, as

mellow in the moonshine

as the preliminary

puppet

pawn

of tonight's hysteria rally

because i know about the streets

and the fine lines that seep

bleeding through the brackish folds

of severe grace and narrow

lunacy

it's a tough urge

to keep a plastered grip

on the expected norm

how to walk, speak

how to kowtow to the GODS

that apparently know the rhythm to which

my hips should swing, the cloying

tone to which my choices

should ring, yet

sentience scares the hell out of the firing brigade

******************

everything gels in the sweaty light of the hard-gaze sun

the beat of the pounded concrete, the match face of pulsing

incineration

cast is heavy, the formaldehyde wearing off, as city

speaks to exposed skin, 

aching bone

i walk ahead, shed with one shaky foot at a time

the shreds of mute-mind-plastic

dark ions of air propel me

and i pause, i wait.

for the echo boom.

Reviews

[Ed Hart]

you certainly turn the language outside the expected norms, and make it difficult to penetrate the stare of the hard-gaze sun, as well as reading the runes of your words...i suspect it's the same with your heart