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oppositional poetry, prose, polemic

Sam Silva
The Illness
Sweetly sick
horns and violins
bleed to a crescendo
...that Mahler piece I saved
to the music box software
milks and bathes
contentment in my idiot mind
during the soft
lamplight of a computer midnight
till the soprano screams high pitched
the vocal part as climax.
And at least since our modern beginnings
of iron bread and steam
there has always been a time
among the neo nazis
who surround History's carriage
for one or another
collective mental illness
born of a decadent spirit
to burn alive with nothing
but the facts
of iron bread and money
and eat well
and drink well
and blow the world apart
in the cup of such fermentation.
Sam Silva © 2015