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Near the sheer shore
where Poseidon’s symphony
floats over dusky night water,

factory gears twirl
and push
concrete and lights up, up, up
into the smog-orange sky
where statuesque they stay
like aesthete Narnian heroes
frozen in witch’s winter

Conduct us, moon, bright as snow,
conduct we these shuffling, shoving,
shuffled masses,
above and below
high on Hollywood, hip-hop, or Narcocktails
and low, low, low

Nurses in white
come and go
like ice-encased clock-hands
or opium-addled swans
from the tube-swaddled bed-sides
of the wan fallen dancers

Machine gears twirl
like blown-glass windows
pushing concrete and lights up, up, up…
into the smog-painted sky
to needle the spaced-out listless clouds

allured by spritely Shivian dancers
and announced by neo-Wagnerian strings,
enter the smoke-faced warheads


(Refreshments and fermentally diverse beverages
will be served in the main lobby.
Visa, Fuhrer Card, and American excess
are all accepted.)

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The following comments are for "The Molloch Ballet"
by seanspacey

Romancing the Warhead
I'm just glad that it's not your finger on the red button...otherwise we'd all be dead

( Posted by: awhippingflame [Member] On: February 9, 2013 )

Whippingflame, there's not much danger of that. I used to be young, full of generous love, and burning for life. But I've been ill and semi-crippled, up and then very down, for years now... I'm just coping through poetry. Please try to look at the art rather than the literal repercussions as nobody's letting me near a red button.

( Posted by: seanspacey [Member] On: February 13, 2013 )

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