Maggot Vision

Stoned and sucking on the pipe, dreaming of group sex with grasshoppers, I am Lilith, devourer of burnt babies and in my vision I see maggots writhing in the mountains of Afghanistan, each one a sizzling, popping explosion of fire and hot metal, eating away at the dead whilst singing demented songs of resolve and the staying power of the drugged Oligarchs, sheathed in their air-conditioned offices, thrombulating with charred bones and skewered flesh of kabobs dripping with the red sauce of the free and the brave, and the wail of children is music to their ears, their wingtips tapping out a Danse Macabre to the rhythm of flashing graphics tippy-toeing across a broken screen in 4/4 time to the music of motets sung by the dysfunctional men-boys of power to the backbeat of death-rattling gold coins, and, O, I’m flying so free on this cloud of bad shit.

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