Pieces for Performance: Grapefruit Rain and The Twenty Years of Solitude

Drink the 子毒 of 孤独
savor the taste of blood,
a virulent isolation that runs
in your veins
in the streets,
down the drain
into sewers of disconnect,
of discontent

(World,
I love you more than anything--
that's why I curse you all the more
In and at an age
unable to believe anything but
the 'but's you've shoved up
mine)

Golden fishes are falling from the sky
and once more, raise a flaccid sword
to castrated, confused Heaven--
GOOD GOD, WAKE UP.

A solitary
popcorn revolution has begun.
Perhaps we're all just
Golden Colonels bursting with disbelief,
unable to love,
unable to trust
the grapefruit rain that falls now--
a bittersweet and burning liquid,
salty like
the rusted nails of preemptive strike.
____________________________________

Go out in the middle of a street and cry.

Cry because you're going to die.
Because these words rhyme,
because the suffocation you feel
as you bawl on the street isn't half as bad
as the the slicing you've felt inside

Once a Valkyrie,
divine battle axe thirsty for the stains of Justice
holy helmet and hellish harp
the tools of a day done right,
you've fallen on your blade

Perhaps being cleaved in two
is far better than the pieces
to which you disintegrate now,
here on the cold asphalt.

Howl and Roar,
let your tears burn
holes through wooden, wormed hearts,
let the blue marionettes fall from the sky,
and take you away with their strings of
poetic logic, prosaic justice.

Stage left,
enter
the heartless, homeless city.