two says about last night's party

   A stray dog, a homeless grandma
   A naked deviant, a sad crippled
   Family members and fellow cultists
   Gays and straights
   The lesbians kiss on the pool
   The middle-age couples spoon on the dance floor
   All drinking the same alcohol
   All peeing in the same toilets
   Mingling, feasting
   Eating all meats, mixing all liquids
   Happiness — as in itself — in the air
   Tiny pink baby angels guide this moment to success
   Such beauty to see, so colorful
   So many great minds, so many great bodies
   Diversity in essence
   No prejudice in access 

   Jesus hits on the bimbo
   The bimbo rejects Jesus
   Jesus hits on the old biker
   The old biker rejects Jesus
   Jesus then drunkenly rambles
   About the sad situation of
this country’s economy 

   The satanist clown arrives
   Full shooter outfit, face covered in makeup
   Goes around the tables downing all the half-full cups
   Then strips to nothing but tiny blue trunks
   And cannonballs into the pool
   As time passes, and the pool empties
   His happy face becomes more and more visible 

   A poor lonely boy pours his guts out
   Leaves the little boys room useless
   He’s dying, thrown to a corner
   As an obstacle to enjoyment
   Overcome through ignorance
   Nobody really cares about him
   But he has a nice smile on his face
   Hugging the bottle of Tequila 

   The many small groups of people
twine and intertwine
   And there isn’t a single soul tonight
   That’ll leave this party without a new friend
   Dancing, cheering, kissing, humping
   Feet on the water, touching glasses
   Smiles that say much more than a shout to the ear
   Eyes that scout and hunt on prey
   Prey that fearlessly hug the wings
   Nightfall won’t calm the spirits
   That step on and stomp its fallen companions
   And to the distant moon lift up their cups
   Meaningless howls to a dull idol
   Raw, with feelings, emotional
   Desperate unison to remediate this problematic life 

***

   From the sidewalk, the deep darkness seems to spring eternal all around, with no sign of ever truly ceasing. No stars are in the sky, no street lights on both sides, only a weak little lamp to illuminate this single sign of human life, this plain white front with its plain white gate. There’s a party in there, with people and drinks, a pool and plenty of good food. You can hear their noise for miles, as an epicenter of chaos.
   The cicadas sing here also, but lose the clash against the ravenous sound wave coming from inside the party. There the music plays loud and violent, and expands to the vast space outside. Synthetics come over nature, so many waves in man-made war, a war against nature. But when this is all over, who’ll brave the shadows? When in the middle of nowhere human kind proves itself feeble once again, with the uncertainty of its widespread intelligence, who’ll stand armless against nature?
   La nature dans son intégralité. Les pauvres humains. Such weak links of existence that be nothing but passing grace, again and again, with no idea of true purpose. With no power over what truly opposes. The greatest is out there, the everything, to be crushed by the promise of the infinite and the truth of what’s finite. Sick humanity, wallow in pride.

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