Poem #37 ~ 6/6/6

37. (4-13-20, my house, while listening to Ágætis byrjun) 6/6/6 from the Somnus series, a series of poems about the Opioid epidemic-

In this world everything is so far yet connected

No one is alone, everyone has someone or something

Always an angel and demon perched upon the shoulder

Captured from heaven by nets of thorns stripped from a crown

Wings torn to be crushed into fine powder for the führers

Just a dab of the nose, and away the world goes

And the hope sticks in and the hope sticks out

Caught and lost by fool’s after the next bout of gout

To shoot senselessness into a rule-risen rout of the righteous

Burning high like a shattered icicles or a golden joyous toxic river

With the holy water and the sinful water rising

And the blood and vomit pooling together, unsanitary

And so the Damask rose will wilt and bloom how many more times?

Beneath the sun glaring on the sand, gleaming on the feathers of vultures

Feathers tarred with sticky flesh and the viscous souls of so many

Live’s wrought left and right and cut for a penny

Gold slit from a seed-pod as soaring hawk’s stalk

How many? How many? How many? How?