German Easter 1524

reading engels on war, "The Peasant War in Germany"
the peasants form troops and make reasonable demands
the peasants are betrayed by various allies in different ways
the peasants burn castles and monasteries
the princes of secular power slaughter the peasants
page after page of beheadings, roastings and impalings
eat your roasted leaders or die is one ultimatum to a throng
and so it goes thru the early 1500s and on into 17th century
dark ages before darker ages after but marx and engels trudge
the road of unhappy destinies finding a thread of "progress"
"Who profited by the Revolution of 1525? The princes.
Who profited by the Revolution of 1848? The big princes,
Austria and Prussia. Behind the princes of 1525
there stood the lower middle-class of the cities,
held chained by means of taxation.
Behind the big princes of 1850,
there stood the modern big bourgeoisie,
quickly subjugating them by means of the state debt.
Behind the big bourgeoisie stand the proletarians."
who stands by me for peace & eco-balance in 2010?
not the artist formerly known as prince
not the lumpenproles and lumpenbourgies
not the lieutenant class or the sargents at arms
not the intermediate lackey sector
everyone is kept running, running, running
too busy surviving to think about survival
but not too busy to think about taxes and state debt

the show crept in guy talk

the immanent imperfection is decay and death
and no wonder colleagues in ethnomusicology
not embracing the participatory discrepancies
'the show crept' was a jirgba ahire phrase in 'guy'
the language of makurdi's beat generation
before we found igbo young men eviscerated
intestines coiled like giant caterpillars in fields
this is what state force inevitably yields

"new blossoms, full-blown, withered, gone to fruit."
scenes from the fertile 60s force these daily appeals
for goodness, long-term-thinking, tire-on-road & stuck-pig squeals
for drumming circles, dances, prayers, everyone kneels
for strange sonnets on a g-string singing death, ax, equals
don't give up on the poet inside you; make life feel real