henry 7. reneau, jr. writes words of conflagration to awaken the world ablaze, an inferno of free verse illuminated by his affinity for disobedience. His conviction ignites the spontaneous combustion that blazes from his heart, phoenix-fluxed red & gold, like a discharged bullet that commits a felony every day, exploding through change is gonna come to implement the fire next time.
The train is departing. Please, stand clear.
The insult of those accepted duplicities, pushing the world
towards the ledge/ : a defenestration of wailing infant, water optional,
dependent on someone’s needs or something’s influence.
The acceptance of the desperation of pretense & the frustration of
end-of-the-line limitation, the bad luck & trouble
coming to a location near you. The stench of Corruption
after the Flood, & the human noose of loneliness that is proof of God.
There blows an ill wind where reality & contradictions converge, the wind
that warns us not to dwell in the past, but to pay attention
to mistakes that have been made before/ : the blood moon prophecies
of chipped horn & fang
disregarded as actually angels under dimming stars, like locust plague or
imminent drought, soup-line stall curtailed me, behind Wall St. money changers
& carpet-bombed the civilian “terrorists.”
The one size fits all for-safety’s-sake that becomes the Law, the color-
coded threat levels of terror on every corner & famine by unemployment.
There was a future once, a theory of everything
before the world turned upside down. Now, a darkness of a different sheen,
something penny dreadful as the clockwork thieves of human dreams.
To live like a man already good as dead, stress positioned within
a dungeon heart of pain, shackled by the ruthless petitions of political magic
& wicked intention feasting on catatonic ghetto-dolls.
I merge into shadow, rendered to the invisibility of broken promises, &
faded expectations, where I contemplate the status of victim, bell-curved
outside the borders of Utopian fever dreams/ : 9 to 5 en-cubicle-d
beneath the weight of suffering cross, the Mack God’s indiscriminate hand,
like the whore’s crack-pipe tongue, the national pseudo-policy of euphoria, &
vision, intermittent in the despair all around me
/ : the confounding indecisions of fear,
like ravening, wing-tipped flames from a hellish molten sun—mortal wound,
mayhem & maim
to incinerate the ear deaf, the eyes to big by a stomach full swollen to searing
shame of regret. A belief in Progress too small to have a name, like rock
or Grand Canyon, like star, from birth to supernova finite breath.
The human desire as unerring as a wish, the blind hope, there by the edge of
the great forever sea. the indifference, throughout the land of the good-
as-dead, exponential behind walls of Empire, & the silence
that becomes the last witness, brought to the sword-point of surrender,
then e-race-ed.
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