i have read that in the inquisition
the accused heretics and their families
had to supply the firewood
i bring these papers
not as kindling
but as a final offering in defiance
as you preheat your furnace
let me give you a hint
the degree you want to hit
is four fifty one
the illiterate plebeians
hunt up new witches to burn
seems things have not changed
just pin it to anyone
wielding quill and ink
not of modern-day clergy
let it torch or sink
i fume
that my texts lay dissected
receive the fine comb
while i watch others
escape chastisement
but you know–
i don’t care anymore
i am a sepulchre of secrets–
this country’s killing expression
molding us into drones
and no one’s standing up to 1984
even though we’re all mired
in the same submissive position
let’s play nice
let’s repress each other
and ourselves
find a new blame
when there is no outlet
find a new blame
when there is no imagination
i remember a decade ago
i was the first poet to hit this stage
and the people stared
like a leper just escaped its cage
i am flattered–
to be informed–
i could not be trusted–
at the helm–
when this city used to clamor
for the secrets my aristotle
of broadway and hollywood taught me
i flew hither and thither
missed the birth of this
what the veterans christened the Glory Years
when spectators jammed elbow to elbow
wrestling for a gulp of air
i still see genius slide across this stage
so i guess it’s the crowd that’s changed
and once again
the poets are dropped at the wayside
still starving in the alleys
stuffing our stomachs with thoughts and truth
nobody bothered to inform me
we were cancerous and terminal
until i heard the flatline
all i loved lay in poetry
in the beauty of linguistic gymnastics
unaccented unaccompanied by alien voices
scratched with wood with steel with hide
i lapped up my sustenance
from all the emotion erupting from these cracks
through these ill-placed sutures
i have watched this City
crucify her saviours
one by one
in sheer jealousy—in childish games
taking toys from the tots to wound the mother
whispering behind closed doors
to some unseen judge’s ear
who refused to review any evidence in person
children squabbling over the scraps
and missing the jewels
–KILL THE SPARROWS–
for the congregation
seems to be on vacation
from the cathedral they perch in
everybody needs a scapegoat
something to staple an opinion
something to stitch their own disagreeable parts on
BEFORE YOU LIFT A FINGER
LOOK IN THE MIRROR
we worry over fool things
while these fragile bodies
these motivated miracles
wind down
we waste every second we can
truly believing we are gods and immortal
when each blink might be our last
i go now to reforge the world
but not you inhospitable gomorrah
no not you
you have been judged
you have been condemned
i rise to join my brothers in mourning black
to distance myself from this
am i angry at any of them
no at the situations that breed this
there’s corruption at every level
even the bottom
i’ve been sitting on this rocky spit
awaiting final mutiny any day
no i refuse to pin blame on a single source
we are all at fault
we should all be ashamed
don’t bother with excuses
i won’t believe them
the answers are insufficient
and
all i have left to say
is the god of Cain was wrong
NOT ONE WAS WORTHY
of the garden’s precious bloodfruit
take your brimstone and choke on it
my eyes drop to my bloodsoaked bride
musae
her eyes chill her voice rasps her body dimming
i stare passionless
don’t look at me—i didn’t operate
forgetting how to resuscitate
as her essence pools on the floor
haloing her head
i know she screams at me
in sudden silence
demanding to know why
i stand so powerless
when for sixteen years
only Poetry kept me alive
I HATE YOUR CITY
how you have missed her
exposing stroking her rotten bloated underbelly
struggling to seduce
even on her deathbed
I MUST MAKE MY EXIT
BEFORE I HATE YOU ALL
allow me to remove myself
from this society
that never wanted me anyway
here comes the death rattle last thrash
the only people who read anymore
are all in this room
so if you no longer have the courtesy to listen
just want to fling defenses apologies and opinions
then God give me apathy
as the tender soul of humanity
scrabbles to hold its last exhalation
i guess i have no place here
drama was the first murder
the only thing i loved
lies cold on the floor dripping ink
sucking color and sensation with her
because art shall follow next
after this you shall have nothing
truly
you shall inherit dirt
i’ve listened to all your woes
i’ve kept your secrets like the grave
and i’ve nowhere to dump my own
i’ve been objective
observational as a scientist
as the smoke clings and rises
cold and calculating as the Snake
and i’m tired
thank you—i have nothing left
i have no home
so i’ll just go
the mannequins with their corporate grins
with their clearance rack values
may stab Goddess Bohemia
many times
sucking out our ghosts
and i can promise
you won’t catch me round here
this City has broken my heart
for the last time
when the Goddess Muse at last collapses
no time to grieve or bury my dead
i’ll bottle her in a flask
and flee
south—or west–
take a sip when i need
and save the rest
to water some new eden
after i slough off this skin
and burn clean
plant the forbidden seeds
and start all over again
in far sweeter earth
i shall resurrect
the poison angel of language
“oh captain my captain”
fuck it
the truth is i want a divorce
©️ 2007
Originally posted on my DeviantArt
Mischa Fox 