Member-only story
Poem: The Homeboy Talks Shit To The Devil About Shootings
Do you gaze at us, Lou?
Do you see your majors?
Do you, in this marriage
of technology and Filth,
still see your pious virtues?
Or did you, at his hem,
in the middle of the bargain,
see us as sepia statues?
Do you see your kingdom?
Did it really begin as a burn?
Did your tools and lot he set,
explode and not clash
at your tantrums and whims?
Did you sharpen the line edges
of circle cages and borders,
as an ode to your despairing self?
Do you tell all the nihilists
to raze all imperfections,
because without the human
you have nothing left?
Did you see your perfection
in leaped workers in their baskets?
Did you see the show trials,
and show trials before,
in their bodies is gone to market?
Did you plan with kings
and common butchers,
performative perfections budget?
Did you break in silence
at his numbered almonds,
or was it amazed approbation?