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The Mark of Cain

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Bill Clinton on Arsenio, playing
Bill Clinton on Arsenio, playing 'Blind Willy Leaps' on his own saxophone.
(Image by arsenia hall)
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We lost track of the Great White be-bopper,

son of Eve and Satan,

after his exile amongst the animals.

Pan Tattoo
Pan Tattoo
(Image by ste3ve)
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There were irruptions now and then --

satyrs, Dionysian dorm parties, Pan with the pipe --

the animists in our midsts with marks indelible

mixed right in with capitalism

and the hidden fruits of knowledge

forbidden from the hoi polloi,

iMacs and such, crypto currencies that despoiled nation-states.

Seth seethed.

The Clint Squint
The Clint Squint
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Everybody who was anybody

(and nobody wanted to be a Nobody)

as Wilbury Dylan might have said,

was waiting for the arrival of Nietzsche's Apollo,

the tightrope walker with a Z-emblazoned tee,

to Clint Eastwood into town,

Dirty Harry the neighbors stealing yellow school buses

full of Black children on their way to desegregation schools in the morning

and work-release by late afternoon of a dying democracy.

Ronald Reagan gives the finger to America
Ronald Reagan gives the finger to America
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Cain has a mark. 666.

Like Ronald Wilson Reagan.

But that's another story.

It's not good to get caught up in the Bad

signs, omens, and Children of the Corn shenanigans

because there's so much evolution for the hell of it to be had.

pusillanimous's pusillanimous, as they say,

putting the black cat in the canvas bag,

tossing it into the deep blue sea.

Rosemary's first glimpse at her baby with the glowing eyes
Rosemary's first glimpse at her baby with the glowing eyes
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The fact is, there was no abortion in Eden.

What the world might have been spared

had Eve been able to rive gauche the glowy worm of our collective Doom

in a back alley behind Our Lady, before the fire

consumed her pantaloons and made her suffer like Joan

Rivers in Johnny Carson guest appearances that sank her career.

Let's talk.

Let's not.

Spock Mind the Gap Vulcan hand sign
Spock Mind the Gap Vulcan hand sign
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Well. We're stuck with the f*cker now.

All because we weren't vigilant back in the when.

It's a Roy Thinnes situation. He looked for signs of the Invaders,

saw gaps between strange fingers stretched.

Today, we know them for dismemberment exercises

in foreign embassies, for being dinosaur vampires

donkey-pumping fossil fuels like there's no tomorrow,

while Athens, Rome and Eden fall for a second time.

We can all just lump it if we don't like it.

We could unionize, but those days are over,

relativism sees us schisming, Candide and Carmen

sitting in a tree (you know the song).

Mind your garden.


'CANDID LOVE'
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You'll hear them yell out to you

from inside your head:

You have to think of your family

You have to think of your family

But it's a taunt; it's an order; it's a Jimmy Cagney

laugh and grapefruit to the face of your dignity.

Jimmy Cagney White Heat grapefruit to the face
Jimmy Cagney White Heat grapefruit to the face
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We are surrounded by monsters

literally and figuratively

and we're going down for the Count

onto necks with fangs like oilmen

sucking out blood, light and life

and leaving behind not malaria but

the hate-evil-anger molecule.

Nero Fiddles
Nero Fiddles
(Image by paurian)
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Who the gods wish to destroy

They first drive mad.

Look! Everywhere --

the fires, the fires rage!

And this time Crazy fuckin Nero

is even burning his Stradivarius

and he never sounded better


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John Kendall Hawkins is an American ex-pat freelance journalist and poet currently residing in Oceania.

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