Upheaval by Craig Podmore
Upheaval
by Craig Podmore © 12.03.2010
“Do not torment me
For I forsake this way of life.
A ration book stamped with fear.”
This neurotic, lonely thespian
Lost in these high streets
Of blinding ambers.
A wolf hiding in human flesh,
A bee denying its seasonal honey,
Displeased with ones nature.
“To me,
Falling in love is like
The final stages of stigmata:
It’s profound pain and suffering
Is worth its romanticised martyrdom.”
The lonesome one finds that love
Is a blemish of awkward paths.
The dizzying nights of perplexity
And frustrating emotions calling from
The in absentia of disillusioned heavens.
Empty glasses and cold public houses
Is where he finds other isolated gods
Of depression.
The truth must lie somewhere.
“Not in this crypt of thoughts,
This parade of self-mutilation!”
The conformed maggots of mediocrity fear him:
Proclaiming his madness
But this madness to him is his art.
It lies in the cusp of flies,
It is the filth he exonerates.
The hatred for the norm exacerbates.
“I see human,
Snuffed and huffed for the crazy abattoir
That they reside in.
It is all murder in your pornography of living.
Dreaming death adeptly.”
These errors dance like art for him
And society is this big mausoleum
Where everything will collide, crash into
One big homicidal comedy.
This exodus exhibits madness of what really is human.
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