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!