Angry swirls of people, raised fists;
sloganeering, pamphlets scatter, xerox machine
a hundred telephone calls, sore index finger
red-eyed gargoyles, deep folds of skin
robbers will rob you of destiny
robbers will set you on a course to find a new one
suave politicians greedy for a vote purse
curry favors with those that will deliver
brave and the coward intermingling
it doesn't make sense, the crowd, the mob
and the artist caught in its midst
doesn't make sense why the sense-world
will want to conjure up such visions
the shouting and hurled barbs
opaque heads scream opaque words
they're taking it over neighborhood by neighborhood
and Prometheus stole God's fire! Why? At all?
it doesn't make sense... nothing does, yet I'm not sure
maybe in a twisted way it does.
Looking down at all those faces
like a movie projection on a tattered, rippling screen
dark rents spreading, mango icecream
I take a scalp massage, close my eyes
75 year old barber wondered about long hair
I think he was secretly pleased to get it done with!
half deaf, stumbling through crowds of insanity
and you dare instruct me on the nuances of landscaping - ha!
The revolution has evolved into a beast
unleashed on ordinary men and extraordinary illusions.