I.
Merrily they commune
bare flesh etched across putrescent forms
lost souls who frolic in the arms
of Death’s ashen grove.
Smiling in their rites
engorged forms stumbling
hand in hand over snuff-colored dirt
beneath the sweltering cyst
amongst the stars.
Wriggling worms writhe between stubbed toes
fat fluttering flies enfold bloated bellies
juicy leeches linger on sagging thighs
enraged hornets sting at swelled uvulas
horned beetles make their homes in hollow bones.
Enshrouded in the stench
of rotting nectarines and burning salt
the bare ones dance
between the skeletons of charred trees
through the piss and the shit and the blood
splashing in torrents of acid rain
splashing in puddles of liquified doves
laughing with lashed throats
loving with curdled come.
Beneath their feet
beneath the dirt
beneath the stones
beneath the roots
beneath the graves
crowned in a wreath of teeth and spit
He slumbers, their beloved.
He will not wake for some time.
II.
They dance for Him
they dance forever.
as their forms fail
as flesh gives way to bone
as bones give way to dust
as dust spirals through the wind
as spirits intertwine
as mountains rise and their kind dies
they dance in the aether
they dance forever.
III.
An ashen grove
reinforced with steel
a snowglobe cage
of plains and trains
of towers and turnstiles
of churning crematoriums.
And salarymen live and die in cast-iron tombs
and schools of overripe intestines coil beneath brass lamps
and every alley holds a man with a bleeding blade
and cracked concrete chokes the dead
and gastric clouds asphyxiate the living
and there is a line outside the euthanasia booth
and there is a shortage at the electric chair factory.
the television shows a woman with her jaw blown off at noon
the movies show the ten-eyed spiders birthing at one-fifteen
the city makes merry with Death
the people smile.
Beneath their feet
beneath the dirt
beneath the stones
beneath the roots
beneath the graves
crowned in a wreath of teeth and spit
He wakes, their beloved.
Gashadokuro.
Gashadokuro.
Gashadokuro.
