GRAPHIC LANGUAGE

The time for gentle poetry is done. Low-hung plums of wit, their nectar sweetly chuckled down our tongues, seem overripe, too soft.

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Now verse must take to risk, become as hard as calculus, word problems set to crystal scansion metered out for clarity.

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Let mathematics rule the day. The many, more by nature than the few, in exponential aggregate expand at last to their first power.

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When we are counted, know we are not sheep.  Our numbers will not lull, and we are coming fast awake. We are coming fast.

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Awake the guards and light the lamps. Humanity wails at gates barbarians protect.  Stop the soothing white noise drone and hear.

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The wall, however high will crumble to the rising street.  Entropic force equates by definition.  Physics rule the centrifuge of revolution.

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Feudalism had its chance. Recognizing its rebirth we club it bloody in its infancy.  Too brutal? Let me say again:

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The time for gentle poetry is done.