Antebellum

From the spoken word album Puissance -1 by Big-Hired Assassin

there used to be a tremendous appreciation for artistic endeavors.
now there is only the act of appreciation.

there used to be magnificent statues built in honor of the chosen few.
now there is only photographs of the artist’s epitaph.

how they have forgotten us, my friend,
as our remains are spread over barren soil.

our tempers appeased by xeroxed copies of hamlet.
our words pacified by men with laconic tongues.

with our minds mutilated by labor
and our inspiration murdered by wanton desire
we struggle to maintain at minimum, at least, one creative thought.
this desperation is what ails me the most.

we used to be so courageous; braver than rattlesnakes.
now we are all just ruled by indolence and worst yet, politics.

forgive us artists, for walking on your petunias.
your grand gardens of indulgence
and your syphilitic, sybaritic trophy rooms.

a thousand nights of fever, justifiably so.

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