WE ARE LEGION.
You get used to the graveyard slowly.
At first you take a stroll
among the graves
on a night you feel lowly.
And then find you roll
in about every time
you feel overwhelmed. Show me
a heart with a mortal wound
and I will show you
an advertiser who will turn you
into a night walker—
a candidate for living among the tombs.
That’s how it happens.
Out of the shadows, a stalker
slips a chain around your neck
and then another
and all of a sudden you cannot leave.
And your brothers
have more to say
about how strange you appear
than compassion.
In fact they never come near—
not anymore.
They try to bind you down tight
and leave your vampire heart
drawn to the night.
Tell me, demoniac, where is the necropolis
in this modern age
that pins you down
in death and rage?
Death is not outside the city
where it’s dark,
it has neon lights
and says “shop-mart”
it is never more than
two clicks away on amazon app
Keeping you buying plastic crap
you don’t like to impress people
who bow to Nero
whose approval is worth zero.
And so I say,
the dead are buried all day, everyday
in ads and noise
and empire decay.
And like I said, you get used to it slow
until all a sudden
you cannot imagine though—
a day without a delivery truck
of things contrary
to your true self.
Or a night that doesn’t marry
pro-sports and military
and all sorts of silly things
that the empire is offering.
See that’s the thing behind the thing
when Jesus gets-up-to-go-to-Gaddarine
and finds imperial demons bring,
a man to cut himself
in the dark. His mind long ago
placed on the shelf.
These demons work for the great machine—
the actual evil one.
That keeps you
buying more, happy but dumb.
Listen. O dead one.
When you can no longer
take the shame of your consumption,
You need to name the demons within.
Say: “What do you want with me
Son of the Most High God…
I live in mire,
for my demons— they are legion.
And I’m so tired.
I just want to walk
in the light of day once again.”
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