CUM AND GO by David Erdos - Poem 6 from THE PEOPLES PRISON
Poem 6 from THE PEOPLES PRISON
Saying you’ll
leave does not mean you have any intention
Of going.
Instead, deeper shadow will be where you lay
Your damned
head. Prone as it to dark light and the negative
Charge that
has sparked us the full way into chaos,
You’ll share
the same mysteries as the dead. Saying
You’ll leave
or step down allows you to sit close to Satan,
Or, whatever
it is, dense soil furloughed alongside
The burgeoning
fires of hell, which are tapering now
Under earth,
and scorching root and weed, place
And pavement,
to unsettle footsteps on bedevilled
Streets. Flesh
will swell. And we will remain meat to you,
Whether or not
you still eat it. Something to condemn
Now, in
secret, like a Christmas wish warped by hate.
Your plump pal
will still call. It’s just that no-one will know.
There’ll be
signals. Emails and memos; devices enflamed
To singe fate.
It’s just a piece of pretending, I’m sure.
Though I’m
always happy to be wrong in these warnings.
But even if
you recede you take with you all of a wound’s
Evidence, for
you have damaged the day that once was
Prized and
seemed certain. Your control, designs, puppets
Were akin to
Albert Speer’s. No defence. I wish you the worst
Of all things
for the disregard you have shown us. In reducing
Life and the
future to games of strategy all you’ve shown
Is the madness
we’re in and the search for a different sanity
That’s now
needed if we are to forget all about you
And feel once
that life and hope are our own.
You’re not
even a Judas. Your kiss has been a projectile
Spit spent
across us. You have no need of a Jesus,
A Mohammed, or
God anyway. What do you see between
Stares when
those eyes of yours squint before us?
What do you
care about? I do wonder as you have played
And staged
each sad scene. If others think you’ve gone
They’re naïve.
Bullies always seek a fresh playground.
And if they
can’t get it, then they’ll bring the School building
Down as they
preen. Personally, I’d be mindful about any gap
That you would
seem to be leaving. I’d treasure the space
For which free
air and relief of one kind could be felt.
But who, or
what will replace you? That thought brings me
Pause and
strained silence as if the illusion of hope brought
By Biden was a
further falsity your hand dealt.
We’ll wait and
wish. Christmas warps. Let’s see what
Satan, sorry
Santa delivers. The Oxford Vaccine,
And a
desperate deal overseas. Where you will be going?
Putin’s?
Musk’s? Beach and Bezos? Or perhaps your own
Island where
Bond Villain dreams form and please.
You’ll be
releasing your little missiles for years in the form
Of your missives.
You are a thorn that spikes landscape..
Wherever you
go, there’s disease. My hope is that one day
You’ll wake
and care about what you’ve done.
And God gets
you. Maybe then you’ll shake, shattered.
And as an
earthquake of one fall apart. Solely in terms
Of seeing at
last the cruelty unleashed and created.
Stoop down.
Step down. See it.
And if it is
there,
Kiss your heart.
David Erdos, November 13th 2020
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