Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror
is this year 100 years old, but the vibe
is a little bit of dark eternity. Mmm-hmm.
Nosferatu is, if you recall your lessons,
a metaphor for Das Kapitalism,
our vampyre went all sucky-sucky on the neck
of Uncle Sam's bride, Lady Liberty,
and next thing you know old Jeb's a millionaire.
And the Lady's a minion for Beezlebub's stand-in,
old Nosferatu, with the proboscis-like schnozz,
that makes you think midnight bedroom mosquito -- swat!--
taking your blood, light and life,
and leaving behind not malaria
but the black terminal cancer, the monster molecule:
evil-anger-hate.
.
Well, it's all falling apart now,
like an overstuffed sofa
with debris in every crevice --
bobby pins, crumpet crumbs, locks of hair,
the sock you lost in the dryer eons ago,
the key to the medicine cabinet you hid your needful oxy in,
the cracked mirrored sunnies from Cool Hand Luke for Halloween,
the old remote, the older dime
with e pluribus unum and the torch and roses
for a love you forgot like a Hallmark sentiment felt and lost.
.
Falling apart.
.
Bob Marley warned us.
You lie if you say he didn't.
He told us the Babylon System,
which is what we're talking here,
is a vampire (vampire), sucking the blood, day by day.
Well, they didn't like that much, so
a CIA operative (oh-oh-7 from Ocean 11) gave him
brain cancer with a pair of soccer shoes
with some stabby toe thing in it (ouch, it began),
they say, and next thing you know,
before you could say Nyabinghi three times,
Bob's singing "Oh, my head," and rock's his pillow again,
and folks on an elevator are clicking their fingers
to the catchy beat of muzacked "One Love,"
her lookin all fetchin, silicon valley augments and all.
.
O, Nosferatu, was it worth it, lad?
You've put a black hole in the sky.
