by Carl Miller Daniels
i am the barbarian battering at the gate.
my teeth are sharp, and covered with
gargle. my fingernails are ready to
tear civilization into tattered shreds,
and fill in the gaps with pauses.
i will demolish existing power structures.
i will smash approval ratings.
i will tie up sexy squirming young men
and manipulate their genitals for my
own satisfaction. i will jerk them
off and watch them spurt their semen
even if they say that’s what they
do not want.
i will be so gentle they will almost
be deceived.
lulled into pleasure.
i will fast when they feast.
i will turn the message of fear
into the message of terror.
and, of course, i will
pour alcohol (probably vodka) into
the cherry smash, and
insist on inebriation standards.
they will be quite, and quietly,
generous. booze will be
insistently available.
there will be no such thing as too drunk. non-
existent the concept of
too lush to go on, marching to
victory, oh, the squeal of
triumph, the roar
of insipid praise.