Hierophant, Reversed
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Slip down rip shod roads and flip down flimflam clouds of dust and betrayal as time rolls sweetly on and on. Kiss the half-filled sun as you kickflip victoriously with pantywaist-ed glee. Let shine your wiles and forget about your permanent files. Time is an illusion and you’re the intrusion, ever-watching ever-faithful, slamming hands on pogs like a pharaoh. Open up that brick cellphone and stare blindly at the wall as you communicate with all. I’ll reach out and grab your neck if you’ll only tell me one thing and one thing only, drawn tight against your chest to keep from getting lonely- where does change begin?

Is it in the darkening night where the revolutionaries light candles and pray to a god unseen and hope beyond hope for a rope to hang their labors beneficiaries?

Maybe.

Does it start in the grinding sucking fucking trench where the bullets fly and a mortar falls and a young man’s head explodes and rains brains like Pollock spray?

Maybe.

Does it start in the chugging plugging raping machine that takes your time and health and fucks you over so they can put stock reports on a shelf?

Maybe.

Here.

I’ll tell you.

Look in the mirror, waxing poetic over yourself, eyes baggy head tilted heart beating like us all. Suck in air through a throat pinned down by greed and lust for power. Slowly realize these chains are bogus garbage nonsense heated up by bourgeoisie incendiaries. Breath deeper. Feel the air fill your lungs, Grab the mirror. Who you see is no one but a farce laid on you by parts unknown, a telephone call and your head pops in the mall.

Change starts with me and you and all the people on this green Earth.

Smash the mirror, take the shards and put yourself back together again, and again and again, estrogen and testosterone, new forms and new yous, and stand hand in hand with your brethren in a field of glass shards shorn unneeded.

No one’s ever free, but in truth, we are always free. Death is just a threat.

Stop ignoring the elephant, grab your guns and knives and batons and become the Hierophant, hanging upside in a dusty highway underpass talking to your people and preaching the new change. Dance with glee on the graves of the prosperous few and let their blood flow like wine at the world’s new communion.

Look me in the eye and promise, promise one thing and one thing only when the bonfires die and the world arises anew from ashes running rich with the blood of sinners and spinners-

Don’t become them.

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