Friday, March 15, 2013

4191. THE PEOPLE MUST BE STOPPED

THE PEOPLE
MUST BE STOPPED
The landsman enters the arena, singly
and alone. He wears no cap, nothing to
signify a place or a rank. Bowed down,
he is already beaten and wounded.
We rise on one great cheer: 'Kill him!'
-
I am of little faith but essence. I wonder
less about my place than about my name.
I want to be whipped, in the same way
the landsman was killed; by the jumbled
roar of seven hundred people : idiots all,
fools, those who jeer at nothing.
-
They themselves are haunted by their
own awareness; of their ignorance and
stupidity, their lack of place or sense,
the slow, dense dribble of all that keeps
them living. Beneath the secluded sunlight,
I would watch writhe and quiver. As they
died, in the manner of the landsman they've
killed, I would rise to cheer. Oh man, how
I would rise to cheer the deed!

No comments: