Schizophrenia's Love Call

How I’d cultivate the Grand Spectacular for you! –
spend a half-a-billion, maybe two, on digitally
mastered three-dimensional depictions
of innumerable legions of conscripted Roman army –

disciplined and glistening in glorious expensive
onslaught on the few resisting creatures who
refused its Pax Romana – blood would spill,
as in DeMille – picturesquely gorgeous violet

and crimson violence would justify the human spirit’s
craving for the carving up of bodies in the name
of status quo and honorable peace: muscular
behemoths would be gleaming in their cinematic

grease: I'd bequeath you all the requisite
exquisite horror I could find – expunge the damned
and damaging ambiguously human grunge that
generates equivocal reflection in your fragile mind:

before we’re done you would accept the ultimate
unquestionable One of Me; inexorable Love
would be your school, and you would know an end
to every anarchy. Let me rule, my little jewel.


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