An O! Poem

O! You forlorn bastards of democracy!
Starving infants forgotten in the ecstasy of capitalism
Who sucked at the stinging teats of bureaucracy
Until it bled and ran dry

O! You weeping imps of Lenin
Cursing the czars of industry
Sparkling movie gods and those
White-collar dynasties of college degrees
And yet worshiping them--their warm glow
Broken--gleeful--embarrassed in their presence
Those dazzling Olympians of television
Those pale-faced Ivy League monarchs
That clean their teeth with your brittle bones
That milk you of your juices in the factories
And recline at night into their furniture spun from cloud
Gluttons of soft pleasures and fine wines
And paper money fat in their small soft hands
Gorging themselves with philosophy and politics
Contemplating life and science while they sip at your salty blood
Your cold, sweet sweat

You terrifying masses! Paralyzed soldiers of anarchy!
Feeble, skeletal ants--yes--but united a Titan!
Furious iron giant--civilization but a spider
Tickling your large, calloused palm
Do you not feel the way its spindly legs bend
Between your thumb and forefinger
Do you not notice the whimpering vulnerability of its
Papery exoskeleton?

O! You idle Israelites! Why do you not sing?
Why do you not bare your angry red backs to the sky--
Laced with angry red scars?
Splash through the streets like a river
A furious, tumbling river of angry red backs!
Flood the city with your numbers!
Tug those softened pigs from their haven in the sky
Make them look at you--despite those cataracts in their eyes
Make them see your angry red eyes!

But you are such beautiful insects
And though you may not realize it, your tears are poetic ones
Your laughter like fluttering folk songs
You valiant warriors for your lives
Who wrap your shivering wings around your children

Fucking in the damp heat of coldwater apartments
Dining like grey wolves on your shapeless-food stamp cuisine
Breathing fast, panting breaths among the other warm bodies
Shitting in the cold disease of darkness
Worshipping God or gods from the bottom of your cavernous foxholes
Setting animal fires loose in trashcans painted wet by rain
Drinking scorching spirits, sacred anesthesia
Crying dry tears, skull split by the dizzying migraines of hopelessness
Birthing in gray hospitals where people wander like lost souls
Raising your children in this lost world

O! You nomadic strays of the city streets!
Abandoned orphans of the American dream!
Release your howls of rage into space
So that the stars may hear them

You beautiful germs of the dirt and cement
Make the moon feel your pain
Make the clouds hear your songs
Make the sun see your poverty
Raise your freshly bleeding hearts to the sky
Beating hot against that calloused palm of yours
Soon the sky will take them up in its
Rainbow fingertips, sun-spotted arms
And rain will fall—

Over this crooked world