[Seated At A Cherrywood Desk En His Uncle’s Tuscan Villa,
The Divine Messenger Puts His Bamboo Quill 2 A Blank Sepia Page.
En A Writing Vox, Born Of Love And Courage, He Authors A Declaration
And Then A Litany Of Demands On The Present World And Its Amoral Pantheon.]
WE choose 2 not defile our spirits with your political bodies
WE choose 2 not be the building stones of an economic bastille
That will enevitably call upon us 2 smith shackles 4 our brothers
And then ourselves
WE choose 2 not do this
WE choose 2 not lie, cheat, and steal
WE choose 2 not have our spirits brought 2 heal
WE choose 2 not fear our neighbor
2 not envy his happiness
2 not covet his dame
WE choose 2 not walk blindly
2 not be blind
WE choose 2 not shed another precious drop of blood
4 the brutes en suits
And striped silk ties
WE choose 2 not covet the purse of our countrymen
WE choose 2 not hoard the pantry’s Ghee
When WE know there are Paupers and Pros who need it most
WE choose 2 not demonise
WE choose 2 not hate
WE choose 2 not be the willing (or unwilling) host
Of an ill-conceived and misanthropic fate
This,
WE choose
This here!
This here!
{Two-Beat Pause}
WE choose Beauty o’er Fashion
WE choose Resolve o’er Blame
WE choose Thalia o’er Scarcity
WE choose Bliss o’er Fame
Thus
WE, the Seekers and Sowers of The Aesthetics Underground,
Demand a great healing 4 a world terribly sick
A world w/out oil (4 the lantern’s wick)
A world w/out flow
A world w/out light
A world w/out soul
{One-Beat Pause}
A world w/out poise
A world w/out rarefied aire
(4 the Righteous 2 breathe)
A world w/out maidens,
Tall, blonde, and irresistibly fair
(Much too fair 4 Love’s Rogue 2 leave)
{Fingercymbals-Twice}
WE demand Prometheus be unbound
WE demand Atlas be given wings
WE demand Medusa be adored (4 the divinity she is)
WE demand the right of our Heav’nly Grandmother’s apron pouch
2 house a bevy of otherworldly things:
Golden Apples,
Figs and Almonds and Pomegranate Seeds!
WE demand a new Garten 4 Adonis
And a new grazing Skye 4 Apollo’s fiery steeds
WE demand that Mercy like Misery
Be given the freedom 2 walk stride 4 stride
From dusk ‘til morn
From tide 2 tide
{Two-Beat Pause}
WE demand that ev’ry Prince and Princess born
Be granted the means 2 re-di-rect their personal lot
WE demand an arrow thru ev’ry heart
And a shakti 4 ev’ry maverick, en the thicket, caught
Thus
WE, the Seekers and Sowers of The Aesthetics Underground,
Demand a great healing 4 a world terribly sick
Sick of Sorrow
Sick of Ignorance
Sick of Tyranny
Sick of Pain
Sick of Division
Sick, sick, sick
. . . at heart
Lupa Press 