Devil's Party

When I think about the gazelle thrashing about before slaughter, blood limping across the savannah — do you think there’s something wrong here?

As I lift each leg over the emaciated homeless, needles still splain — well, I mean, you can’t help it, can you? I need to shove everyone aside for my place in the subway cabby. While I claim a section so I finish reading another defamation, our modern gallows.

And as I fan through your journal and wonder how much more you can stand to suffer, so I hope you’d see the same. Why not have some trials and abject despair; why not wonder how many more days it’ll take until you realize your thinking gets you nowhere? I wait eagerly, but I don’t mind the current events either. Everyone else can shed the tears on our behalf, maybe.

Some of the vines slither between every foot, and you can either wait for the constriction or hope you’d never get waterboarded. Though to what benevolence are you cashing in on? Well, maybe we’ll drop some pennies and lend a false wish to the next sidewalk surveyor. Hopefully the cross light doesn’t turn to green, to a painted red as the truck plows ahead.

I can’t hear the screams of the animals and their flesh I’m cutting, though I wonder if I had some second senses so I could hear the plants beg next. My counter is littered with crushed flies; my fan sliced half of them and of the mosquitoes I guess they’re scavenging: trying to terminate what has long since shed into an affront toward our Ten Commandments. But aren’t we taught by what’s right in front of us? That’s why it’s best to avoid alcohol and its latent rage. That’s why it’s best to leave the revvers alone, to let the carcass fester on the road.

I wonder how many more fences and needed installation for the overseas factories producing my toxins and they breathe it in, cobalt for a short 30 year of living. Blood diamonds still procure some smiles for a marriage ceremony: the divorce courts too I’ll line my pockets with. Filed in line to the backend districts and we’ll look away from each broken wanderer. For if you look into their eyes so they morph a translucence and infest.

A steady pulse of violence laced through everything and it slowly strangles me. But aren’t I just another soldier?