REQUIEM FOR THE Alt-REPUBLIC *
Wake up! You said the mirrorâs hereâ deconstructing mother to construct a shameless father: degenerate, a smasher, twitter-retching Loud.
Wake up! There are a million men led by two million women, electric chested, blasting âCHOICEâ, armed with voice and colossal pressure-- fear the thunder of the raised-up signs.
Wake up! I am. You said I need to hear the call. Demoralize-you bullets have been fired, letâs king the high-spots on the wall-- youâre goddamned right Iâm up.
Iâm up! awake for yearsâ awake to see the soul-caustic wild wolves all around, to see the black snake handlers deceiving in slithers like ruthless force.
Iâm up. Iâve been awake for most of this impending break, for the milieu-booming snap of the Republic.
Iâm here, with everyone, covered in the shifting threat, reeling divergents we; hold on, my sisters, my brothers, because theyâve been feeding the masses AR-15 dreams--stars & stripes stocks and bolts etched with the crooked crosses of blind obedience-- hold on to the fighting instinct you never thought you had, itâs all happening so flash and I can barely think and I am no Walt Whitman looking at the bones, but I am the shadow atypical, I am the scream SCREAM of poetryâIâll blow the bugles to plough the fray, to take the day, make no parleys and in the end weâll own the clay, red or otherwise, we will excommunicate the drone.
Iâm here,,,, in full blown panic attack, breathing heavy, eyes reaching, chest and soul vibing like Iâve been dropped from panic fear-wrought cloudsâmy voice is now a thunder rage, it is survival.
All because I know:              WAR is Coming.                     And the voices will beat: âYour vibe is a sick tempo, mr.prez, you who drinks the beastly alcohol of hate, golf swinging next to child-filled graves, tis the band-aid of your psychosisâso go into the black and expand until youâre nothing at the edge of the universe. And weâll hold. We the armada, we are like the rain, you can try to punch and shoot us all, but weâre falling down upon you anyway. We will not take seats, we will persist! My name is human, and Iâm here for warfare with the storm.â
Theyâre in plain sight now; theyâre here to stare us in the eye while protecting black-heart monuments of moral pestilence-- weâre eye to eye, so do not turn away. Itâs on the hill led by the fascist psycopomp declaring you must listen, because youâre lost--beware the blue-blood devils transmitting words of ear-worms to turn you, turn you to a low life. But the truthâs in the horizon. Youâll see the plumes of War, prepare for War, reinforce the foxholes of your intellect--we are the Soul Armada, We will RISE and not divide, HOLD ON for the rising abomination of battle.Â
And weâll stand in place, with our love, to the torn brim with dreams of dreaming once again.
Inside a seeming peace before the impact. I breathe, with a half-smile, knowing it was THEM who came to paint us black. Weâll pay them back at sunrise.Â
So here I lie, under covers just before,
and waiting for the fight.
