You Stoke Class War, Woman.

Crystalline elongated orbs! Tits errupt to sky. Amid a blackened why? 

The shimmer on your brilliant spheres are the lack heavens sole reply.

Within the void a million stars, 

Bottled in each such brilliant glee.

All floating in a night so bright, like my soul an endless coal black sea.

Then suddenly!

A ripple from the phallus toward your nipple!

Commotion in the stills.

The once still night let loose its fury out my window,

The silence now made raucous as we piglet sons of oligarchs throw forth twenty dollar bills.

And the still night torn asunder by a fiery roar,

Such epic cosmic fireworks I’d never seen before.

An effervescent miracle,

An eruption and explosion in the their brothels, 

Fragment bombs and shattered bones upon the trading floor.

Where forth does one run, to where does one go!?

I swear I’ll never know,

The light that night it burned so bright, 

As we stood mesmerized below.

The complexity, the sheer black magic, 

The dark of soul deeper black than all of outer space.

Who in this chaos interrupted?

What force had set upon us?

Who was now amongst the biggest Apple! 

The citadel and bastion of the entire human race?

Neon lights an urban blare too bright to see the sky.

Eleven million people trapped beneath, within this city lie.

A paradox, a fool’s delight in the concrete jungle dwell,

All boxed up in plantation cubicles,

A candy coated hell.

Thus sprawling out for miles and miles,

The deep metallic tomb.

Its arteries the highways streets,

The power plants its womb.

With each exhale, ascends the smog of souls as if some smoke signal from below.

Eleven million voices shouting answers,

Sick cries in the form of questions we all know.

The telescreens are glowing gods,

Truth in the dollar lies,

Redemption if you hold your tongue,

Wall Street’s wall by city hall is built a mile tall!

Those inside the district prosper even as the outside world dies.

And knelt down on the rooftop pavement,

I have in solace sought,

One cannot shake the inner quake of knowing all’s for naught.

What was that flash asunder?

That so lit up the sky.

Had the Devil raced the Reaper?

Were dark forces bearing down?

Was it a Chinese missile? 

Or more gangsters crossing over from the poorer side of town?

What did that cosmic illumination spell? 

The return of Christ triumphant, 

Or a pale horsed rider cracking open gates of hell.

 Scientologist phenomena, 

Hipster prank for fun?

Or perhaps it was the signal,  

My tovarish, wink.

That the rising has begun.

The world that had managed, the titans swagger, happy spending, rapping on and on about automobiles and pills.

Don’t under count the 100,000 stacking bodies. Fire, Fever, Cough and Chills.