This is the glimpse of the god you were never supposed to get. As if a shimmer of madness suffused the geography and its people, conjuring a bestial will into existence, designing itself to garner survival.
Others could see it, even the conveniently distracted: the truth that is always the velocity of money, the mean-spirited narratives and self- serving rhetoric, like perception that is relative to point of view—restraining, as if everybody is nobody to everyone else.
The defects in democracy, always, a question of applied force, buzzards spiraling down like stirred-up flakes of ashes, an irony with a mean streak of optimism, circling, falling through the signature of oxygen.
There, in stark emerald relief, that snake of myth wrapped around the top strand of barbed wire, is proof the world saves its best horrors for last, something muscular, cloven and drawn lunatic flesh of elastic evil. The ozone scent of blood, of vigorous rot, and lightening flashing amplitudes of electric fire that bullwhips shadow.
The ominous movement into the crescendo of radiance. Eyes like glass shards of black obsidian, a wraith-like lament that incites the fires of the ancient ones. There was dust on the man in the long black coat.
henry 7. reneau, jr. writes words in fire to wake the world ablaze: free verse illuminated by courage that empathizes with all the awful moments, launching a freight train leviathan of warning that blazes from the heart, like a chambered bullet exploding inadvertently. His poetry collection, freedomland blues (Transcendent Zero Press, 2014), was released in September of 2014. He also has an upcoming e-chapbook, physiography of the fittest (Kind of a Hurricane Press), to be released in 2014. now, runantellyomamaboutdat!!