Cheyenne Gallion

It’s 1am in Dallas
Most of the Lakewood area
And some of Lower Greenville
Are walking directly towards Oak Cliff
Across the Jefferson Bridge
Against one-way traffic
Looking to hook-up with the drag queen social
In the arts district down the street

Most likely its coke they’re after or maybe speed

From my window I’ll see them coming
And will snipe them down
I’ll use darts loaded with orgy inducing narcotics
Top secret government-issue super drugs
Designed for a mutant urban suburbatronic super-breed of American
Children of the hollow river basin

An Albertson’s parking lot orgy
Will surely break-out
The overstaffed men will turn to light poles
Traffic cones will be passed around as chasers
Shopping carts will be filled with the dead and the mostly dead
A ground beef fountain will be erected
Lubricated with worcestershire sauce

It will be a very weird scene
Will they notice
The meat is not cooked?

You are the sacred temple of humanity
Born to suffer
Strong enough to plow fields of clay and stone and fear

Your fear
Our fear, all of our fear
The world’s fear dark at night and invisible in moonlight
Hidden eyes around a fire, around a pole
Around and around
Fire and a winter pole
Cold because we know it as an old god of the playground
King of the tetherball and black magic master at no rules four-square
Cold beacon
Hibernation and exaggerated death ritual and sleep and morphine and skin

You are the alchemist
You are able to make the fields holy like our sacred reservoir
The flood plain of East Texas vibrates
Monks and rivers and trees pushing through eyes
Your eyes on the island and in sky and perfect

Eyes of sacred men and great writers
Drunks and workers and painters and photoshop artists
And weed dealers

There are robots and there are men who forget
And there are men who die a thousand times forever in small moments every night during summer like mayflies in scattered lights
Like the robot alchemist

To create, to die, to die again