Twilight of Necropolis

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Twilight.
It’s not just a time of day
it’s a state of mind
between the worlds of waking and sleeping.
And in this stately State of Twilight
shrouded in a fog of electric concrete
lies the City of Necropolis.

This town’s towering temples of teflon
testify to the tired tenacity
of a twisted thanatos.
The people who populate this plastic paradise
are billions of bits of rotting flesh
clinging to the barren bones of a steel skeleton
that was never alive to begin with.
They bustle and buzz through the streets and subways
stretching and straining their styrofoam sinews
scouring the city in search of the soft scent
of the firm flesh of the living.

But who’s living?

This capital city of the vampire empire
is fueled by the fierce fires of hollow hunger.
The cavorting cadavers have nothing to chomp on
but cooked chemicals coursing through corroded capillaries
of captive cow corpses.
They feast on the flesh of fear
eating the past, eating the future
eating the screaming slime-soaked soil
eating anything to tear their tortured taste buds
from the poisonous puke of the present.
They are cowering creatures of constant consumption
but their festering food never fulfills them.

Why?
Because somehow, they know.

The blinding blare of black boxes
beguiles them into believing
that this is all there is
that visions of green gardens
and healthy humans holding hands
are just the demented dreams of demons
and that purchasing poison and plastic
is the path to paradise.
But even as teh munch on mutant media memes
their mutilated minds remember
the deep, dark drumming
of the human heart.

They eat to forget, but hunger to remember
the fiery flow of blood in their bodies
the fragrance of fertile forests
the taste and touch of fresh fruit
the lingering lightness of laughter.

Their hunger is
the hint of a hidden heartbeat
the promise of a permaculture pulse
the song of sown seeds
suffocating in a slurry of soil and sludge
screaming for the sunshine of spring.
When those seeds sprout
Necropolis itself will be devoured
fertilizing the future with its fall
feeding the hungry roots of a forest garden
growing into the light of a new day.

My name is Treesong. I'm a father, author, talk radio host, and Real Life Superhero. I live in Carbondale, Southern Illinois. I write novels, short stories, and poetry, mostly about the climate.

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