SCREAMING WITHIN THE CORPUSCLE OF THE WORD
by Jay Passer
Bent to the shape of the storm
The beaten umbrella surrenders
Once shelter for minds of a particularly crystalline hue and flavor
And so a sublime city rises
From the destruction of our selves times a thousand
For there is nothing but the end of the road to diagnose
Either a house landed there a splintered shambles
Or a seed mimicking cosmological transcendence
The choice is yours Mr. Man in the street
Woman of the street
King of the mime
Queen of all time
Screaming within the corpuscle of the word
A nut job bolted into the birth of being
Soldier of psychosis sent shivering into the mineshaft
The cyclone of mind shuts down the inner eye
Make you beg for it like the true pack leader
Get on your knees and whimper for a mere snack
A dog in disguise as a dictator
Because not unlike the storm at hand you
Are some uncontrollable burst of light
Fighting strength and fists shaking locked
On the infinite touché
That gleam in the mother’s clandestine womb
Just out of earshot delicately smoking a thin filtered cigarette
In the other room
Of another country
Some generations back in History
Planning victory