All, All I Say to the Public Square!

There it is, a-suck sun, thickly entwined like Rapunzel's locks.

The crowd, has come odder than odds, tattered rags enmeshed to

their crevices, they reek to low hell.

The air moves sideways, caught at the throat unable to sing.

What is this furor that has eaten the margins of a public square?

The crowd keeps pressing forward, as if to confront the macabre

march of their lives, their slights cleave about with such precision 

that vultures go blind.

Some occult watershed moment is pin-pricking bumps of coarse

flesh.

Arms club and flail skulls dumb to impact, erogenous zones are

clicked on, there's an undulation that would make Sodom revisit

the human form.

Bodies of dead weight tantrum, demonic babes trying to awaken

an idol whose face is painted intricately with fecal smears.

A priori convicts herded to crowd, one and all--the sky above

wants to usurp their earthen haunt, loosing them to rich black

space, where their rich black may chase their absconded breath.

Their eyes are blitzed, blinking a millions times before each take.

They don't even see one another, they've liquefied, no ordinary 

stupor at present, but rare form in the raw.

Their words piggy-back sentences from all angles, there's no

oral history to be found, this type of language must ferment.

Its impetus is a rogue whose corporeality cannot be lined by a cage.

Their pores pop open as incidental eyes, stroked to a trance by

splintering limbs hurling into a Bosch like guffaw.

Full admittance for inappropriate timing...nature's lectern overtaken,

stumbled upon--with such a dominant pretense that Socrates will

sew his lips in the grave fully knowing he knew nothing.

Here...here is their meat, their package out of thin air.

The crowd's vibrating, the criminal's feet shimmy forth under those

vibrations...ice hath materialized for them.

A noose blows brighter and brighter holes, the crowd seems to dive

into them--fully enamored.

Gallow polished to perfection, edited by a unanimous authorship.

The fine crackle of a neck, the crowd rerouted...combing their faces,

trying to obscure their quivering mouths...quivering mouths

articulating euphoria to such a degree that it is worth guarding.

Konstantinos Mark

Reviews

[...]

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