A Vision of Iris

Human beings are strange...
Humans are unable to see beyond their noses...
They immerse themselves in excrement...

while...

on the other side of the ocean
we read of the strife... rape... belligerent tribes in the Congo...
one hundred and sixty women are raped weekly...

HERE...

individuals are unable to understand the hard rain...
which will wash way their limited intellect...
the hard rain will burn their limited consciousness...
this hard rain will emaciate their psyche;
many humans... here... remind me of the troglodytes...
we have not evolved... devolution is their lot...

THERE...

The Hutus are still in the intoxicating forest,
but they are engaging in sexual violence...
a violence that is a residue from 1994-95 conflict in Rwanda:
five hundred thousand Tutsis and moderate~political Hutus were massacred by the Hutus...

HERE...

in richmond hill individuals are consuming the Tea Party Rain...
and all its acrimonious gospel...

{Unique Voices charm me... they divert me from my pain...
The Lwa solicit me ... they concoct a potion ... they have immersed me in their voodoo...
One deity engages me in a dialogue ; this is Erzulie Freda's exchange:

This journey you must traverse alone to West Africa : Benin, Togo, Nigeria and Ghana.
Nana Buluku will proffer a golden talisman which will enable you to unlock the Voodoo Talisman Market...
You must drink the nectar of the waters of Mami Wata...
Here Mawu will proffer the sublime nature of things...
Here your Iris and her mosaic vision of the world will appear and prevail...
Be patient...}

{i retort:
Time is our nemesis...
oh, how i long for her...
oh, how i pine for my Iris and her golden wings.. i want to escape with her...
i need to escape form this absurdity that MAN and Woman must grapple...
Oh, Iris, guide me amidst the absurdity which is LIFE..
oh, how i yearn for my Iris and her golden rod... i need her pitcher... i need to drink form her golden netars...
i await Iris' arch of colours... i await her flight... i await her chariot... we must soar beyond this Canadian Kitsch..
Iris, please save me from the Kitsch that surrounds me...

i must yawp over the rooftops of this Capitalist Horde...
i await Iris' nectars, wings and herald's rod...
i must yawp over the crys of the children...
Iris... i need you to permit me to soar over these hordes...
Iris, i beckon you, please, free me from this rabble...
Iris... we need to rise form these thickets... and gain a new foundation amidst the ashes of these
Hollow men and women...}