in this city there is intense
kindness,
friendly, charming,
but nothing behind the eyes.
the mask of sanity
slips
slips
something terrible
comes a calling,
there was a ringing in my blood,
maybe I should go a-killing,
you look lovely choking
on your tongue,
you are evil.
in this town,
you must do evil
but softy,
secretly
-caress your lover
then stab the *****,
pain is intellectual,
the superior modus operandi
to happiness,
only evil is worth the time.
an accident happened,
the neighbour is dead,
let's go outside
all at once
and watch
and watch
you are stuck in the machinery,
in this city,
we watch as your body
mutilates,
mutates
into god.
in the city
there is eternal happiness,
serene, perfect bliss
your children grow like guileless
psychopaths,
they drink in the
light of
your deformed god,
praise violence secretly,
praise despair
when mourning
happiness,
for too much of it
and you might
as well swing from ropes,
in the city though,
the tourist comes
to see eden at last,
here the dallying,
here the breathing,
synchronized in our
gentleness,
never knowing of
war, famine,
hunger,
we **** ourselves with smiles,
the joy
of successful sacrifice,
I cannot do it justice
this city,
this beauty
iridescent and benign,
the cup of elixir,
weeping mystics
bow in reverence,
pious housewives
turn to the saints
adorning the doors of our households,
and at night the
wife does not slam doors,
she opens them
and sits on her own accord,
and the husband does not drink
he eats the food of the lord,
and does not throw plates,
and the children are beautiful cherubs,
they sing of heaven,
and water the plants with their tears,
the table is ready,
let us feast upon the idiosyncrasy of our
ignorance,
in the city there
is but one flaw,
there is child who weeps for pain,
he is half starved,
illiterate,
mumbling,
***** matter covers him,
his gangly arms
ripping at the bread,
his eyes droop and
are shadowed by
idiocy,
he urinates upon himself,
and eats
at his hand
when dinner is not given,
he stares at walls,
and his skin is littered with lice,
absent mindedly he scratches
until blood is drawn
and licks it in thirst
- he was never taught
better,
but the happiness
of the city depends upon the child,
the suffering of one
for the betterment of
a million others,
the experts say
it is illogical
to sacrifice all
for the improvement of
one, who
has no chance of
regular function,
he is but a child,
but he is the child of the city,
and his pain feeds
our happiness,
his gentle cries
for his mother
rest upon our dinner
tables,
and make us salivate,
he is our child,
nameless yes,
but he is so wonderfully delicious,
his flesh
squelching under
the brute force
of crowbars --our salvation,
but in this city
there is no guilt,
we fatten our children
for strong futures,
we do not shake our
babies,
for we love to shake our boy
when he cries,
and hit him and
watch
as they beat him
such beauty
such beauty
tears spring to the eyes.
for we know the child
must be there,
the happiness that
radiates through the
city
depend upon his
jutting bones,
in his misery
lies the knowledge of our
scholars,
the cures to our diseases,
the terrible
justice of our boon,
but some
when they are brought
to the room
of the boy,
simply look,
and go sit under a brook
for a minute
then they get up and
and
walk away
from this city of stardust
and fairytales,
and eternal sunshine,
where they go,
no one knows the better,
maybe someplace far
far more lovely,
maybe someplace wretched,
it is possible they cease to exist
for they never come back...
this city,
this city
is beautiful
but if I told you about it
you wouldn't believe me, would you?