I am the dragon of revelation,
in Philosophy’s degeneration.
Amid society’s titillating, Technicolor delights
I whisper to dull-eyed drones: disturbing and perturbing their nights.
I want for more vibrant prey than the workers of the day.
My handsome face hides hungry ways: a virgin at play
for lace and what is more for her new born blush of amour.
I cannot abide the weary talk of broken drones and autolore.
My wings unfurl, my talons uncurl; only at my rave party
can I breathe, breathe out this antiseptic 2023.
Judy, decked in delightful hosiery,
saunters in shifting fashion, her holography.
Her eyes, chameleon colors, ever darting, ever hungry.
She’s readied to rave and ripe for me.
A building under tech: archaic catastrophe, forgotten monstrosity.
She passes beyond the graffiti art doors of the abandoned gray armory
threading defiantly through the dancing throng
pumping and clomping to my angry song.
Drawn from below the vaulting tech towers
companions barred from the paths of power
chafing in their plastic safety coated condition, sullen and morose, hearing my raw bass rumbling,
searching to escape their codified perdition, but finding their woes, shouting drunk and stumbling.
But Judy, she’s venusian splendor.
All the gang adores the flesh of her.
Only I (old serpent!) seek beneath the mesh taut,
burrowing beneath bones, constricting her thoughts.
Her alabaster finger slips to her wondering lips;
eyes velvet in haze search through my gaze’s maze.
Ha! My trap is sprung, easily conquering the zombie hum
in this crowded rave; thus, do I make my way.
Now’s the easy part; today’s mental glaze makes straw into gold.
Softly sung, I whisper a few words to strengthen my hold:
Cogito ergo sum (Now, you know, you must know, I’m not dumb).
Like a doe sinking in dung, yet still she closes coquettishly.
I feed her manna mixed with my will, in words.
Rapacious girl! Famine embraced, Judy heard
my twisting songs; she cowers trembling
hearing my brash, lustful dissembling.
Now, modesty demands I’m a humble dragon
as Judy pushes her pouting skin
to my jaded, long faded scales, still sharp and deadly, but forgotten so old,
cutting her self against them, cursing her electronically annotated world.
Now it’s all over, she’s cold morning leftovers:
Judy, my mirror, my clone who concurs.
I must own with some pride, I did swallow Judy’s despairing apathy whole
but tossed her out to agitate all, fire breathing Judy, my angry othersoul.
With fleshy cogs in metal gears turns the Mechanical Absurdity.
The dull beat goes on, the drone humming song of barren 2023.
I soar on passion’s sharp wings.
I am the dragon of revelation.
A howl in the night,
A dionysian disaffection.