Good-bye to the Masses

Nov 2016
Victoria, BC

They must die, of course, the masses,
In their millions all of one mind,
In their rural idiocies slumped against the wall,
Or lighted by the manic flashes
Thunder-echoed by the cities' crazy caverns:
Falling ---- falling ---- falling masses of unreason.

They must die, of course, these pullulating herds:
The beasts, crowded in their pens,
Scream and grimace at they know not what;
They cannot think; how could they understand?
Birth is unwise, love an illusion,
And the delightful, natural dream
Lies in a stinking tomb.

They must die, of course, poor apes;
Do not try to wake them;
Born in dreams, they live and walk in sleep.
Do not get too close! Their temper is uncertain!
In mindless reflex they will tear and strike
Those who bring the nightmare: --- Light!
Assaulted by the alien glare
They would writhe and shrivel
Like a thing without a spine ---
Caught in the noon-day sun.

They must die, of course, and very soon,
Before their numbers double.
By bomb or germ, by accident or plan,
They will go, and ---
Good riddance.


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