2026-03-02

Biopolitics

Lenin’s eternal parade in heaven
Stopped briefly
To add another float
Ing cheers praise the Father and
Their love for Man was
Only dwarfed by screams of terror below
The rubble a peaceful countenance.

Can you hear it?
The serenity of one man’s faith
And the bloodbench of its execution?

You can, harken
From the clink of ice in your cup
Or the pulsing
Base desires propel missiles.

And you tried to be ignorant
And name the sirens another
Hookup or
Puff or
Drink
To shut it up

But it feeds and
Festers the wound
Up in the planet
Gore on the subcontinent——
To have the disposition to shit one’s pants.

My enemies cannot touch me,
For I am clothed in the armor of St. George:
Their bullets turn to dust before
The grand design of history
Was revealed to me
One late night in my room
In a book
I grasped the masses’
Tears, lack thereof:
For I am impenetrable.

They cannot touch me,
So rather I touch myself.