A Baptist Observes Mardi Gras

[ChristopherSea]

Queer zombies have awoken
and mad harlequins alike;
they believe their inane rites

It does seem kind of stiff, the whole thing to the end. Though the look of the thin stanzas, short lines and the look of the words used, along with their meanings, can draw you in. The zombies seem somewhat alive, a little more than undead, compared to the report. It does seem a little much like a half-heartedly preachy report, like you sort of said somewhere. I can see their blank and confused eyes though. It would do well to knock the fashion frenzied mainstream hipsters down on their glib nostrils. Some 'raggedy, faggoty' animal-eyed, obviously-expressioned faces. They don't believe anything.



will immortalize this night.
God turns an aloof shoulder
on this eve’s garish façade;

But the poem remains as obvious, and only a quarter not as blank-eyed. But it's fun to play with. Like a god turns a hoof of a shoulder on this gay parade.



spurning this flock as his own,
that forages in twilight.
They’ll dance the evening lifeless,

Why does it need to be said "that forages in twilight" in that line, at this point in the poem?


shaking their canes and rattles,
and snake along warm asphalt,
freeing spirits from bottles.

There's more life in these festivals of ignorance than one might expect.


They reel The Big-Uneasy
in ill-defined conga lines,
after feasting like gluttons,

in anticipation of Lent.
Their pilgrimage goes nowhere
at a languid anguine pace.

They seem to be doing fine.



Their only clear objective:
swill this eve oblivious.
Purblind in amber beer light,

they seek some neon beacon,
stumbling into false temples
that no one could have faith in.

The holy idiots seem to come out better here than the narrator. You describe the best of the activities, and add or subtract nothing from them. Decadence and debauchery; America is a pagan country, always has been, always will be. And the heathens are morons, and they would have it no other way; so they celebrate. Through their ignorance: their mockery of Christian ideas, and mockery of themselves, is more profound than this poem can admit. Immortality is the real mocked scapegoat. They don't need it. They're too ignorant to be indifferent or not to be indifferent. And their indifference is their strength. Their blood religion. They're bound to failure. It's not even tragic. And doesn't need to be scorned. They'd only welcome it, or be too stupid to know. They defeat themselves, in similar ways as this poem is self-defeating. Call it success.

Rowens, much obliged for your time and critique of this, as well as your viewpoints on the theme. I will take them for their worth in my next edit. I fear much of the stiffness and moralizing tone is coming from severe editing to clarify and provide motivation and answer questions in response to reviewers. My only editorial was probably my distaste of mob mentality and behavior. As I told tectak: 'I'm all for drinking, nudity and women flashing their breasts, just not in public and I don't share in the crowd mentality or mob behavior or the need to be part of them.'