T H E E N D C O M M U N E

toiling upward without much choice under heavy yokes of addiction,
constrained by copper fetters, masked with the blackest, a most coarse leather as not to speak, not to impress with humility and destitution whatever folk will pity them along their way.

masters of the various arts of morphinism and alcoholism,
of every kind of vice and addiction under this sun,
 hungover from the unearned privilege, choleric and spiritually malnourished, hollowed out, like voided shells, from the empty ejaculations of many sad, bestial moments
and from the spiritual destitution present in the hearts of every person construing the eternal as temporal; the Sacred as Profane, the sinful as liberating, and the fear of God as some form of superstitious decrepitude or impotence.

from the foothills of the world to nauseous heights of elation the procession proceeds, along the vertiginious trails of failed hedonia snaking upward through velvet fields and through the gate of diamonds, only to fall from grace, from the top, and to repeat the chore again and again and again,
as soon as they hit the ground.

a procession of Sisyphean morons stuck like the hamster in its loop,
like slavefolk pining for their bondage to be eternal...