billionaires,Epstein,poem,poetry,satire, poem, poetry, 366

NOW I SEE/PRISTINE

It’s not
the Sistine Chapel

no,
more a pagan temple
more suited to
demon worship

having a lovely
forbidden cult time

God knows where
they got their hellish
iconography from
avatars
of extreme
bad taste

bet they didn’t get
it in a single impromtu
haul by
way of incognito
trip to Walmart

much mix ‘n match
mythology up
in fresco (alfresco)
as long
as it conjures up
chaos, destabilizes,
vaguely terrifies

have
to ask the angels
(better angels
of all our natures)
regarding the sound
proofing
and how much
scream dampening

thick
as the armour on
a Tiger tank I guess
no one not invited
does not
need to hear a thing

and starting with Sistine
falling with
absolute loss
of grace from there

now I see
(Oh, how I see)
what billionaires think
of in secret, in private,
in their self-
owned 747s, self-owned
off-shore islands
when they
hear the word “pristine”

and with that rhyme chime
time to draw our
paparazzi portrait
of what
Edenic landscapes, sexual
configurations
float unfiltered but
fatally contorted
into theit imagination machines

with all that money – – whisper
shout proclaim
that word
for all eternity, for the
sum total of the poor,
shabby lifetimes
of us in
the 99.9

with all that money
Cheops pyramids of money
nothing in
or between Heaven and Hell
you cannot have, make real.