for the painting i created this poem for:
What are you without tethers?
I shall tell you something.
For your lament, it is nothing.
For your mourning must demand
the untying of our societal fabrics.
Believe half at least as the threads
bolted on your wrists
bolted on your elbow pits
bolted on shins and thighs
as fixtured you are bolted on the ground
Yours is no mere crucifixion of the Christian kind.
When the time bestows, you will know exactly what you are.
So, lower yourself, poor man!
There is no God within you, only Man and Sweet Dreams of the Shirtless Kind.
It must be cold, freezing
carrying all that weights
yet what do you carry but the loss of innocence?
as fixtured as you are brainwashed with your mind
A blackness, oil-clad,
sticky substantive liberation,
free with no commemoration
full of hatred, puking compassion
contamination of the Ground
you’re my suspension vaudevillainistry
full of tricky, jaded contrasts, check your Artistry.
Save the Hole of Your Hide,
if it’s nothing but truth,
then put down your mic,
your academic face, put a pail for your crown,
tin can halo where no smile ought be found,
ink deep underground.