It’s there—somewhere | 1 |
Behind that most sensitive, | 2 |
Subjective of black walls. | 3 |
An undetectable tumor | 4 |
Firing neurons at random | 5 |
In circles most times, | 6 |
Like a psychedelic merry-go-round | 7 |
The carnival music that milks terror | 8 |
And the sugar high—giddiness | 9 |
Manic—fun, fun, fun | 10 |
Exhausted, the machine breaks down— | 11 |
The tumor, in its self-righteous glory | 12 |
Pulsates with energy, | 13 |
sneering at its slave body | 14 |
appeasing its addiction | 15 |
of Power…ah! The power, | 16 |
Endless pots of coffee and cartons of cigarettes. | 17 |
An amazing display of corruption… | 18 |
A helpless psyche—at the mercy of | 19 |
Praise and attention, starved of love, | 20 |
Not noticing the masses parading around. | 21 |
An endless procession of nameless, faceless smiles. | 22 |
How sickening! A threat to all those sacred broodings, | 23 |
That comfortably numbing labor of sleepless nights. | 24 |
False! No true understanding of ideas and man | 25 |
Just the content masturbation of life for its own sake... | 26 |
There is no parade of the lonely souls | 27 |
Of defective origin- radiating obscurity. | 28 |
No banners or balloons—no noise at all | 29 |
Just the weeping of solitary violins, | 30 |
Drowned out by three-hundred channels | 31 |
Of Hi-Definition celebration—mind’s eye of the world | 32 |
That “other” world, far above those trembling hearts | 33 |
Of cripples hidden away in dungeons. | 34 |
Dimly lit by Puritan candles and bare, | 35 |
Ascetic rooms, sparse furnishings—unkempt | 36 |
No sound to be sure…the tortuous dripping, | 37 |
Grey water, through cracks in the ceiling | 38 |
Tap, tap, tap…that monotonous, maddening | 39 |
Metronome—keeping the time, | 40 |
To deaf ears, engrossed in compulsions, | 41 |
Obsessive delusions of genius and weight. | 42 |
Tap, tap, tap—countdown to the end, at least for a while | 43 |
The hooded demons come as they will, | 44 |
Who’s to stop them? When they’ve shredded every piece of insight | 45 |
Burned any remnant of satisfaction. | 46 |
Taunting the poor recluse— | 47 |
With no one to confess that haunting secret | 48 |
The winged rats, daemonic apparitions | 49 |
Enticed to destroy all in sight— | 50 |
It’s poetic end, as it must be | 51 |
Induced by the very mind that spawned a world of salvation, | 52 |
For himself his own Jesus— a tumor. | 53 |
For all other entities of dreams and visions, | 54 |
Forsake his mind at its desperate hour. | 55 |
The hypnotic, thousand-yard stare... | 56 |
Penetrates through cheap canvas—beyond, | 57 |
That high plain devoid of heavenly bodies. | 58 |
Beyond any supernatural domain, it lies inside— | 59 |
Inside that all-consuming tumor | 60 |
Of staggering heights …the intangible, | 61 |
Boxed and stacked on shelves | 62 |
A secret reservoir, selectively permeable | 63 |
To only those with nothing else | 64 |
A token victory—surely to be found | 65 |
Among the smoldering ash and ruin | 66 |
When at last the opus is bled dry, | 67 |
The requiem for anything… | 68 |
Anything that might last. | 69 |
That could withstand the hell-fire | 70 |
And the thrashing of ungodly claws | 71 |
To be preserved— | 72 |
Once the tumor slowly eats away | 73 |
At itself—imploding, self-destructing | 74 |
Into a single, infinitely dense singularity | 75 |
Then gone, all that once brought death and destruction | 76 |
That waged war with both heaven and hell, | 77 |
That fought for a place among the elements, and a stage— | 78 |
Obliterated in an instant. | 79 |
Still no noise…no tapping of water, no violin... | 80 |
Just the metallic ping of a single shell falling to the floor. | 81 |