Being, Eclipsed

Take away this spring which was not spring. Along with fall which removed the feet of summer.

Take everything that is something other then itself. I’m tired of taking up room in this circus of impostures.

Before disease and dialectics, there was life. There was the heart’s affairs and keeping up.

There was the single-celled amoeba, crying for its mother.

Now we are pawns of a rancid and rapacious clownshrill and deranged.

We are pallbearers, with discarnate minds, waiting to shut the spigot off - take this de-creating process down.

In the cities, the bells rang all day long: everyone was being summoned, but no one knew who was summoning them or why* *see