Freedom on the March. (via Cahiers de Corey)

Open Letter.

“Ode to the Ruling Class”

Think not that those who exult in art
Are in purlieu from thy Nile
Thou breakest not the candle
Sleep chrome walkers of the tenable facades
For Samhain
Sing, pure mutiny ebbing
This ink slag
Avalanche of myth;
A lurch of lungfish that thou tellest only
Crystal age in shimmering heat coil
Iron America
Thou hast created of iron morning.

There is no grip save scabbard
Most swift greed
Who have believed and whose cats have the Nazi
Clandestine emblem
Tattoo’d shimmering hop toad
Would ye take it by the Salii
And wherein we have revealed plain white cobweb
Sunk beyond
Sun of blank corucating music,
Puree in the bitter tomb?
Underneath our curse
A folk whose streak the night itself afflicted

Call Moloch
Thy august circle
Which seven lean were eating & the freedom
Ran ruby
Red in the adopted vap
Thus have we revealed it family
Took place in the fifth slag abolish
In the rain of dope
Moloch calx
And those with thee chrome mankind
And when he provided them with Xanadu
Rim ran white

Planet aborted
Between them save avalanche mimics
For tomorrow a rebus
And a perfect, intricate, demented pyx
On the acid shore
Azaleas
By the acid and the olive drab ingot
A sea of flowing amber
Leading edge of avalanche angel
For Samhain
Don this sable robe
And quaff more bitter coffee

Today the avalanche calls to us
Our star & the end of secular music;
Mutiny winds its Etna
Up, thy mind
Is ice & lunar
Black & white alone & compulsive charade.
Appeal to the homeless day for food.
This chamber
Is only an idiom.

10 23 04

Listening to- Boys for Pele.