1. Remembering a very preventable past while worrying an unpredictable present
This is me, irritable jester from one time of cholera.
The suffering demands now a plastic confidence, right
in front of the fear nursed by a containment of past hates.
Containers leak a non-color there, letters from here, each
time pride fails. I could’ve betrayed a street-smart history,
as some last indian, snake from the grass out in a defensive
gesture, head up, a cup of venom boiling from the glands,
ready now for the next steady rampage of fellow snakes,
fellow proud jesters in this time of dengue rains, AIDS
lanes, A(H1N1) banes, cancer industry boons. I am,
loony crooner now fearing your doom, singing here
of past moody angers eager for remembrance,
longing for peace from that time of choleric
vomiting and insane sanitation-systems
greed, wishing for an encyclopedic eye
and a log of creeds to never ever see
those cramps again. But, by a
2. Recalling a researchable present while watching a helpless descent
strength measured by a credence, there
drops from the sky an image. Hitler with a
brush, from over the moon, Pink Period Picasso
with another woman, Dali with his Francoism, Liszt
with a theme jumping from mood to mood amidst crazy
fans, waking Michel Foucault in Mons and a later Buddhist
socialism. Michel became cross jester in the daytime, by night
time a sufferer of your jeers and judgments, you who have
suffered enough humiliation yourself in the envious
greed of these times of choleric jealousies, NTDs’
politics. Never will we see him again. Not
again, that historian of basic illnesses.
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