Cry of The Lumpen

Discursive monkey dances, the honor killings howl, hungry for the guts and the grain toiling in hot sun, burning in low, smoking kitchens, sweating out their sacred dreams, giving breath to opalescent hope, transitioning nowhere, the identity politics having crushed, altered, raped, reproduced, and made good fourth quarter profits off of their tender self-effacement. Life on the hard side of the stone has built the condominiums of pain, the mocking towers with great views of the horizon, this is where a prehensile, deluded society enjoy their impaired ideals, drenched in the blood and pork fat of aborted, unaffordable children, and the scalded flesh of commercialized murder. Sated with grotesque amusement, they fondle, then bruise further the dismemberment of youths promise, to no one goes the spoils, all rotting and vain, a culture mixed too indefinable, authentication repressed, the strictures of agony so applied.