FERAL AND FREE
Last night
an apparition
of fascism
appeared
in my bedroom window
uninvited.
A cavernous
floating mouth
hovering in the sky
spewing forth
fire and brimstone.
A bilious barrage
of bitter words,
pernicious proclamations,
and seductive lies
flying out
in all directions
from the gaping
skull cavity on high,
borne on the wings
of metallic
birds of prey,
robotic drones
dropping
toxic word bombs,
broadcasting
insidious invective,
arsenic-coated seedlings
helicoptering down,
taking root
in the sad soil
of despair,
a billowing breeze
lifting
the fig-leaf
of democracy
to reveal
a grinning corpse.
An airborne
propaganda exercise
complete with
weapons of mass distraction,
bellicose braggadocio,
scented with
the musky lure
of million-dollar checks,
a litany
of manipulative phrases
designed for
pulling the wool
over your own eyes.
Screaming, Yes!
Shouting, No!
Bellowing,
I am
the Waking Dream!
I am
the Apocalyptic Nightmare!
I am
the Devil Incarnate!
I am
The Chosen One!
I am
the Great Redeemer!
Attention Fellow Patriots:
Your settled world
has exploded.
Stand by
locked and loaded.
Daddy’s home
to abort
bodily autonomy
to thwart
what’s queer.
Never fear,
I will protect you
from harm’s way.
I can fix it
today,
if you only
will obey!
Listen up!
51 America First songs
flag-waving singalongs
from annexation ballads
to deportation blues
clothing
their taunting lyrics
in anthemic nostalgia
for an America
that never was.
Something is rotten
in the hamlets
of the great
State of Hallmark
and the stench
is palpable
throughout the world.
Political talking heads
trumpeting
recycled
Orwellian refrains,
Freedom is Slavery!
War is Peace!
Ignorance is Strength!
A word salad
of plausible denial
raining down
on farm
field
and town,
exposing
invisible wounds,
invoking suppressed
feelings of anger
deeply embedded
in the manufactured delusions
of American exceptionalism,
revealing
the smug pretense
of liberal bromides,
the crash and burn logistics
of colonial genocides.
Spare us all
another airbrushed erasure,
another pastoral scene,
placid cattle
lazily grazing
in the meadow
slowly sauntering
back to the barn
at days end,
the gentle
sound of bells
tenderly tinkling
in the bucolic
glow of sunset.
Iconic
contented cows
passively
locked up
upon arrival
for milking
or slaughter
the following day.
Flipping the script
on such sentimentalized
scenes of subservience,
I imagine
a viral outbreak
of mad cow dis-ease,
a contagion of rebellion,
dis-contented cattle
waking
In the morning
to the rancid smell
of sour milk,
to the fear
of sudden death,
mistreated malcontents
mooing madly,
refusing
to be cowed
by electricity
or stalled
by domesticity,
ripping out
industrial milking machines,
tearing down the barn,
trampling the fence,
running amok,
stampeding droves
without drovers
hoofing it
to the periphery,
foraging together,
beyond tether,
rewilding
on the margins.
Vowing
never to be herded,
let us seek
a new emancipatory myth,
not mired
in fascist demagoguery
or party politricks,
not resorting
to the tired theatrics
of choosing
which turd
will lead the herd.
Some turds
might smell worse
than others,
yet we are
unwilling
to hold our noses
and vote,
passionately rejecting
citizenship by rote,
loudly denouncing
the humiliating hypocrisy
of outhouse democracy,
rejecting electoral “realities”,
affirming elective affinities,
heralding
the surreal complicities
of an anarchic life
feral and free.
