He Haw, I Cried

Hee Haw, I Cried By Sy Roth With a mulish hee haw, I wrap myself in my own divine comedy. Commedia dell’arte path For a blind mercenary of his own fate. An ormolu wonder stood before me-- Trees clad in shimmering gold. Timidly approached, I scratched its surface lightly Find fleshy, dark wood beneath Where ambitions have been suffocated And only the braying of asses can hear them. Below, caterwauling hags, Along with their sibling troglodytes Drape themselves in incessant pleas for mercy, Spilling their guts across nomadic roads They spin their wheels To get to nowhere. An Inferno blazes in the land below, Waving feet dancing a tarantella. Above their decaying bodies, Dull movement of fusty air. Mesmerized by the undulating feet and the muddled cries, I sense a shameless overlord who conducts With sets of atonal rhythms. It mesmerizes the suffering marchers Makes them hopeful As the ashes above Leave red trails to the crematoria Afloat on a river of fecal matter, My raft drifts across a once fecund land. I cannot hold my nose. And the haints will not be stilled. And I, the mule, hee-hawing Stare ahead, then Upwards, to the last ebon time Where soft breezes of the golden trees Will not sing the Siren’s song And the soft winds will frolic with the peace -- No more.