JESUS emptied the devils of one man into forty hogs and the hogs took the edge of a high rock and dropped off and down into the sea: a mob.

The sheep on the hills of Australia, blundering fourfooted in the sunset mist to the dark, they go one way, they hunt one sleep, they find one pocket of grass for all.

Karnak? Pyramids? Sphinx paws tall as a coolie? Tombs kept for kings and sacred cows? A mob.

Young roast pigs and naked dancing girls of Belshazzar, the room where a thousand sat guzzling when a hand wrote: Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin? A mob.

The honeycomb of green that won the sun as the Hanging Gardens of Nineveh, flew to its shape at the hands of a mob that followed the fingers of Nebuchadnezzar: a mob of one hand and one plan.

Stones of a circle of hills at Athens, staircases of a mountain in Peru, scattered clans of marble dragons in China: each a mob on the rim of a sunrise: hammers and wagons have them now.

Locks and gates of Panama? The Union Pacific crossing deserts and tunneling mountains? The Woolworth on land and the Titanic at sea? Lighthouses blinking a coast line from Labrador to Key West? Pigiron bars piled on a barge whistling in a fog off Sheboygan? A mob: hammers and wagons have them to-morrow.

The mob? A typhoon tearing loose an island from thousand-year moorings and bastions, shooting a volcanic ash with a fire tongue that licks up cities and peoples. Layers of worms eating rocks and forming loam and valley floors for potatoes, wheat, watermelons.

The mob? A jag of lightning, a geyser, a gravel mass loosening...

The mob ... kills or builds ... the mob is Attila or Ghengis Khan, the mob is Napoleon, Lincoln.

I am born in the mob-I die in the mob-the same goes for you-I don't care who you are.

I cross the sheets of fire in No Man's land for you, my brother-I slip a steel tooth into your throat, you my brother-I die for you and I **** you-It is a twisted and gnarled thing, a crimson wool:
                One more arch of stars,
                In the night of our mist,
                In the night of our tears.

he has a nice nose and dark hair, pale skin
like yours
and he's skinny and disjointed, unlike you
because you're like a million pieces designed for each other
that don't quite fit me right
and another is a bit large, while you are the small
fit version of an angel
this same one has more emotional depth than you do
and I find all these boys to talk to,
they're fine for momentary amusement,
but I can't help but measure them all to you
and I can't help but find them wanting.

I chose to squeeze the lemons into life's eyes
sue me
but lemonade is never all that satisfying
until you see the ******* screaming on the floor tugging at his hair as the chemicals
sting his eyes
bringing a whole new dimension of pain
that is the definition of satisfaction
because if life throws a wall at you
spraypaint mene mene tekel upharsin
your days are numbered and so is your rule
i will not be subject to your cruelty any longer.

MENE MENE TEKEL UPHARSIN, fingers wrote this on a wall
Ancient doom from long ago...not just a cryptic scrawl
-
King Belshazzar he did read this...made his knees to quake
He was killed that night, now his soul does ache
-
Belshazzar was the king, the king of Babylon
He's dead and burns in Hell, but his children carry on
-
His Daughter carries on, a verse of Scripture I now site
From the Book of Psalms, I'll read it now forthright
-
The verse is number eight, the chapter one-three-seven
"Who art to be destroyed"...this Judgment comes from Heaven
-
Babylon the *****! Babylon the *****!
The Greedy Wanton Daughter, just like Babylon before
-
Hello USA, look what the fingers write
TEKEL! TEKEL!! TEKEL!!! You this does indite

{Figure out what "TEKEL" means}

So wise, so sovereign?
Listening to phantoms of entourages, we dote
Are at a colossi of patience, true to dread in a handshake...?
With but such a bitter lip, a star to guide by, we hope...

Actual live and let's give...
The time, to a furious, shall?
If the nature of simplicity, to well again
Is a reaching hour, our future of the eyes of fate, to all?

Sweet we would, afford in the stare we mentioned...?
Sheer distance to a cold shine, we favor once, but in regret?
The toil we imagine as a fared friendship has, to win...
The mind of observance, if winds endear a novelty meant

Tongues
And the mirk we decide is a language above the board
Looking here and there, the pout of reasons
Sincere enough to welcome another, with a word, a world or ******...

Treatise of the ******?
So, is a little more ideology our only way to confirm...?
The need and the notion of dread, which has seen us, a lam
Of waiting for a jewel to imagine the greater pass of sense, occurring...

Like a benign tear, an angel, with a promise for each...
Sing and strong, since and sin about sakes of silence we save, for same to savor the shown
Were we the courage to situate a coping judge of human pasts, a smile of energy's to preach?
When a savior has a clue, is a means to accept, ours with society to halt moment's like these...