Len Gurts Goes All Messiah Complex

That performer
is doing it for them.

Give him your category mistakes
and snakes and scurvy
your crazy and lurgy
and you’ll get bubblegumable chews
of paisley or jogging bottom
Shelley or Johnny Rotten
back

because all of us are in you
each disciple and Pilate
pilates or beer gut
all of it
West Bank or Jew.

He will be gorgeously perverse and filthy on every border
he will eat Eve out and leave tea spout stains
end pain in every fine chinaed garden
that don’t let all the bands in
recklessly abandoning social cause and pan handling measures
of austerity.

There is not an art budget. There is no STEM.
We build what we like.
And what is there
but a performance
always
that we direct
despite… what says, exactly?
Who says, exactly?
Who is saying.

What is there
but your performance—your lies along with theirs?

Get off your cross: I’ve snapped it.

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