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.”

Hey Text and Rocker!

If this poem added value to your day,

check out our new poetry collection

WARRIOR: A TEXT AND ROCK POETRY COLLECTION ON ART. HEART. AND THE WARRIOR ETHOS.

Indy published, pirate intelligancia.

—Swift-Footed Markilles

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