by Rachel P Kendal
Saturday, October 19, 2002
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Triumphant in your speeches
you gladly misinform.
In the fog that surrounds us
you tell of your relationship
with Sir Ascetic.
Transfixed on you, the audience
is a flurry of young children
who must learn.
We admit, you fascinate us.
You’re telling us to deny ourselves,
leave our souls behind.
You are lost.
Sitting in the audience we pierce
your translucent skull.
As your speech is at its zenith
still your mind is empty.
You are raving like a prophet,
teaching us the way.
Follow the road of self-denial
You finish in exaltation and I
rise with the crowd for your ovation.
Behind our masks we laugh at you,
you sad, lonely boy who took the bait.
Intravenously we fed you our lines
and in your own denial you drank
until your thoughts were made
deliquescent, until they poured
out of every orifice and
you crumpled into a heap on the floor.
Goodbye Sir Ascetic, as you leave
Please leave his mind to us,
for we are hungry.