Mike Pompeo, Devourer Of Worlds

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Om nom nom nom nom nom nom,
nom nom nom nom nom,
om nom nom nom nom nom nom,
belch.

That is the sound that Mike Pompeo makes
when he devours Venezuelan civilians,
when he devours Yemeni war orphans,
when he devours Iranian Covid victims,
when he devours oil and user data,
when he devours Julian Assange,
when he devours nuclear fallout,
when he devours truth and morality,
when he devours your mind,
when he devours everyone’s mind,
when he devours the light of consciousness,
when he devours everything sacred about our species,
when he devours the ecosystem,
when he devours the world.

Mike Pompeo has a fraud face,
an apartheid face,
a slave owner’s face,
my father-in-law’s face.
Mike Pompeo has a face that says,
“I would reach into your chest
and pull out your beating heart
and eat it right in front of you
and then say Oh no, what has happened to your heart?”
He does not use language the way humans use language.
He uses language to make chains for humans.

The world is made of rainbow smoke and miracles,
of feathers and whale songs,
where peacock angels soar
and owl angels hide in webs made of secrets,
where babies coo to their mothers from beyond the stars,
where lovers would fight and die for each other,
and Mike Pompeo wants to devour it all.
Mike Pompeo would devour you where you stand.
Mike Pompeo eats human meat.
Mike Pompeo eats angel meat.
Mike Pompeo eats planet meat.

He said “We lied, we cheated, we stole,” and laughed.
Laughed a laughless laugh
with laughless eyes in a laughless face
painted over a laughless network
of computer chips and pain.
A chorus of laughless laughter followed from the audience,
because they knew that if they did not laugh
he’d grow angry
and devour them.

Mike Pompeo,
Devourer of Worlds.
Devourer of the weak.
Devourer of the vulnerable.
Devourer of the real.
A man promoted beyond his maturation.
A child who didn’t get enough hugs.
A child who was hurt.
A child who was warped.
A broken human
with a hungry ghost
who will never be satiated
no matter how much
he feeds it.

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I write about the end of illusions.

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