Dostoevsky’s Jim Jones
by Sabrina Dawkins
Jim Jones held a vial of COVID-19,
standing high up on the stage
wearing pale green,
his congregation down below,
looking up to a Savior.
Disguised as democracy,
his socialist utopia
ends like this:
with periodic culls.
I saw a white man,
Jim Jones’ color hair,
swim across the water
from the Rome Coliseum
carrying a wooden cross
on his back: the new Christ
from the fourth beast kingdom.
Bread and circuses
until euthanasia.
The disease is the weak spirit,
says “The Grand Inquisitor.”