Bleaching Tar

Caldrons fill of desert sands,
Bones sparkling as crystal,
Vulture feathers caressing the bounty,
While distant suns collide.

So goes the nightmare made real,
As inevitable futures parade
Like stolen Dali paintings
Come alive at carnival time.

Surrounding the bottomless vat,
Lies try for 1st in line,
Climbing Rapunzel’s hair,
Like a vacuous dream from the Broadway show:

"Let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees
Give a home to the fleas, in my hair
A home for fleas, a hive for the buzzing bees
A nest for birds, there ain't no words
For the beauty, splendor, the wonder of my hair
Flow it! (Hair!) Show it! (Hair!)
Long as God can grow, my hair!"

Spun hair ladders undulating from the governance of hollow drafts,
Obvious as Gulliver's pock marks,
The roiling lava of soul,
Hardening to stone,

Save popped bubbles serving
Traitor's caves of imprisonment.
Such caverns of desultory ethics drip,
Flood, then grow dark.

And so…

This swirling black hole of humanity's errors
Stares with blank eyes at lesser creatures,

Whose unfettered calm bodes well for survival of the fittest,
Evolution's history finding its circuitous escape,
Its self-destruction premise fulfilled.

How rich the soil of ant and centipede,
Proffering wisdom in knowing as they do,
Decay is but food for survival,
Not fodder for control of others.

How precarious this finger-hold on sanity,
This food,
Whether for mind,
Soul or emotion.

Yet…

A species can also
Choose to horde and gorge
Accumulate bulbous proportions,
Believing they can control anything,
Even a quintessential delusion

In believing they can bleach their created tar.