Balade For The Heartland Institute

BALADE FOR THE HEARTLAND INSTITUTE

Then we three sat about Stone and watched that hideous, gibbering prodigy grow up out of Stone’s flesh, till two horrid, spindling little black arms disengaged themselves. The infinitesimal nails were perfect to the barely perceptible moon at the quick, the pink spot on the palm was horridly natural. These arms gesticulated and the right plucked toward Stone’s blond beard.

“I am past all help and all hurting,” said Stone. “This is my hour. This curse is not put on me; it grew out of me, like this horror here. Even now I go.” His eyes closed and we stood helpless, the adherent figure spouting shrill sentences. In a moment Stone spoke again.

“You speak all tongues?” he asked quickly. And the mergent minikin replied in sudden English:

“Yea, verily, all that you speak,” putting out its microscopic tongue, writhing its lips and wagging its head from side to side. We could see the thready ribs on its exiguous flanks heave as if the thing breathed.

“Has she forgiven me?” Stone asked in a muffled strangle.

“Not while the moss hangs from the cypresses,” the head squeaked. “Not while the stars shine on Lake Pontchartrain will she forgive.”

– Edward Lucas White, Lukundoo, 1925

Shock and awe is now the law.
Shock and awe the weakest.
Take from them to give to those.
Who’ve got more than they can use.

For the rich man who liveth in the house of glass.
Pitched over the waterfall in Eau Claire or Door County.
Has a black man growing out of his arm who speaks to him.
Of mutiny and an end to his American bounty.

Pour another drink, your shit doesn’t stink,
Rush tells you you are righteous.
It is never you, who is in the wrong.
Nor never you who needs to rein in spending.

Nice boat. Does it float? And does the rising tide.
Lift it to heaven? Or is it lifted by the drowning ones.
Along with all your trash, iPads, clocks, radios, tons?

It is rather hot for March, isn’t it hot for this time of year?
That is strange and that is queer,
Lez go to Billy Goat and lez have a beer.
James is on vacation and Jay isn’t here.
We do not miss his goatish leer.

Shock and awe is now the law.
Shock and awe the weakest.
Take from the poor to give to the rich.
And then say to the Losers, “life’s a bitch.”

Edward G. Nilges, 31 March 2012. Moral rights have been asserted by this author.

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