The Glories of Righteousness
Some drink the salty ocean water.
Shivering down from caves
in an arcane purply haven,
something struck,
thundered
at gurgling golden waves,
rippled it with flaming tendrils and boughs
and crumpled the ground to ashes.
She blinks. Her pupils dilate in disbelief.
A massacre
by tubes piercing
flesh twists inside,
seeking,
finally
gulping down lumps of superfluous life.
The surgeon’s camera kisses the blushing, grinning cadaver.
And
the physicists work tediously,
their mindless spider fingers crawling
over the metal,
clicking,
connecting,
pushing
buttons here and there to make it buzz.
It burps and they
shudder.
Outside, screaming supplicants bloody their palms on the glass, mouthing “Stop.”
Yet
straight-toothed passersby tread carefully to ignore that
impudent boy,
that unkempt
seat warmer in the waiting room,
writhing inside.
A plush woman judges deeply
through a sniff of her nose:
Gall
swells
his kind.
Pitiful, dirty.
The righteous riot clings babes to their sweatered breasts.
She sighs,
“Sun,
silly sweetness,
rise.”