The Olympic Games

Amidst the Olympic Games,
Beneath the diffused and anxious voices of the air
And the metallic screeches of the toxic city,
We stand to salute the old and dangerous energy,
The fervor of nations,
Divisions, power,
Now in new garbs,
With ancient blood
Do the youth lean toward the battlefield,
The insectual patriotism of billion-consciousness,
Fused minds,
Now cascading rivers
Of bruising astral death.

Our age is old,
It is weary of death by battle,
By the chant of the carnivorous mammal,
Now gripping his own release,
Now fondling the new arrows of thermo-nuclear resolution,
The thousand suns that man may grace the granite with,
The thousand billowing clouds,
That soon my veil the thousand movies, the athletes, the baseball math,
Whose equations we have retreated into,
Like a reluctant ostrich,
Hiding eggs at a poetry reading,
Of matter-centric sexual buoyancy,
The hippy hypocracy label,
The Clark Gable parties
Of wine and stale fruit,
The Roman grape-stuffing faggots
Who revere poets and pianists above the real,
The workers who bus their parties
Who farm their fat faces
For the green coupons of entropy
Hidden in hateful smiles,
The wanton suffering of the rich,
Sublimated and flung,
As the mud of Hollywood,
Into a zeitgeist of flag psychosis
Commodity fetish movies.

Now only the kissing and joy of the ridiculous can solace us.
We have build toys too stubborn to leave.
The earth is littered with our excrement.
Mother Kali is calling us,
To cleanse the rivers and the cities
The wanton droppings of boredom.
Man is lazy
Even beyond conceiving change.
He can only watch the games from the stands,
The athletes running with plastic,
Gripping things,
Racing toward imaginary goals,
Leaping for gold around wooed crowds
Clobbering, frenzied,
Boxing for the religion of victory
As teams, with flags, for nations,
Until the game is over,
And the flame quenched --
In our glorious festival of extinction.