Stargate
Observing the appearance of the Hale-Bopp Comet
in March 1997, the Heaven’s Gate Cult of San Diego,
California, chose to commit mass suicide.
We eunuchs run a starship enterprise.
These breeders are a cul-de-sac, life-wise –
it’s fatal, this fertility. Our sign
in silent eloquence beckons us, benign,
and distant safety looms. These perfumed petals
warn of replication. Bonny nettles,
acid sacs insistent, brilliantly
express us. The existing tyranny
of sexual torture, stifling status quo,
is not for us. Our star is here. Let’s go.
Our quest? The fattened calf, Finality,
the fertile farrow offered by Fatality.
This tyranny, Existence, has to end –
so says, with brilliantest insistence, our bright friend –
“Leave tortured sexuality behind,
enjoy the eloquent silence of Pure Mind.”
This lethel phiall of phenobarbitone
will free us from the fetid fleshbound zone,
the only way to stay alive and grow.
Let’s shed the skin that's dead. It’s time to go.
Safe distance from the urges that benight us,
a chance to live within this life’s detritus
like hermit crabs, is all we ever wanted,
abandoning the rigid shells we haunted
until our moment came. And now we’re leaving.
We’re shedding, shucking, shifting, shunning, shrieving.
No more of nitro-clover-copulation,
or aimless, shameless, overpopulation,
where carbon concentration camps are rife.
We’re going home. We’re dying into life.
Copyright © Michael Coy | Year Posted 2017
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