like a thousand fire-tipped arrows.
blue interrupted, replaced.
red.orange.black.
5 worn puppets
all taking turns manipulating strings,
rubbing salve on raw crawling stomachs...
a slackjawed insect choreography
smokescreening the masses by curtain's call.
"stay where you are, ladies and gentlemen. be comfortable, don't inconvenience yourself with thoughts of revolution."
[cue drunken, hand-over-heart pork-barrel proletariat ovation]
backstage bowing heads
preying for silence,
for distraction,
for unconsciousness
to live (crawl) another day.
epilogue:
clicking in a smoke-filled back room...
********a telegram:**********
end of days
[stop]
coming soon
[stop]
mission accomplished
[stop]
NB @ 11:47 AM
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