The heroism of Bastian

Heroism is not dark matter
in the soft underbelly of the bourgeois ES
falsely transgressive.
It lies in the recesses of
ruined workshops and seeks the fight.
It devours waiting brains
and breaks the enchantment of tradition.
It rejects the glory of the sword
and prefers corrosive breaths
and the outrageous sicumera
of talk shows.
The multitudes yearn for Spinozian infinity
and the dancing nights of dull criminals
become heroes.
Perhaps we need to return to wearing clothes
smoothed by neglect
and recite strange litanies on sunny rooftops?
How to get rid of the dictatorship of the word?
Who can know but the woman
who shows her breasts
and shakes the ill fantasies of the illiterate