From minor to augmented (egos)
you inverted perverted sevenths and ninths stacked too high and tight like crumbling tenements and
trump tower trumpettes blaring cries for deployment, displacement,
their own decadence.
The tesserae of wild flying life
the pursuit of caffeinated virtue in
my roaring twenties and twentieth-century aftermath
An improbable mosaic for the mathematically inclined:
Oils and piss and turpentine thrown onto the tabula rasa
Orchestras and cocaine and sad sex
Anxiety-laced straight A’s and decades of pay days without a raise
Cosmic Christ Consciousness and talkin God with the runaways of Wicker Park–
So there’s poor Pythagoras giving birth to hypote-nooses out in that shadeless oasis, suffocating trying to connect A to B while his contemporaries burn alive wilting their tarot deck.
Their treasured oracle spells their demise, accelerated by pleasure.
Static on the radio, they changed the name of the coming holiday to
Come desert storm, let their shit carriers and their shortcuts be engulfed along with their voodoo cards.
Tower falls (how many times?)
Just as sloppy, same old cycle
To a primordial hum…
©2017, Amaya Engleking