Cruel Dominion

There is a tyrant,

hidden, stealthy,

who whimsically

foments crises

in the blink of an eye --

between evening and dawn,

between morning and afternoon,

between one hour and another --

catapulting its subject

in a seismic jolt

to the four winds.

If it had a face,
this tyrant,

it would be the face of a monster,

a madman.

If this tyrant had a body,

it would be that of a
vicious, clinging

monkey.

If this tyrant had hands,

they would be giant

claws.

If this tyrant had eyes,

they would be obsessed,

deranged.

If this tyrant had a mind,

it would be twisted,

reeking with the stench of lies,

lies promising Heaven
to the body, to the mind . . .

but, instead,

delivering Hell.