Rhetorique (?) Poem by Luke J. Holt

Where is air when my lips turn blue?
where is comedy when i sleep beside a ghost?
where is hope when sobbing comets twist in silted sky?
where is logic when the air dies and the shapes melt?
where is Hamlet when Ophelia burns?
where are drugs when my blood runs pure?
where is obscenity when the world needs corrupting?
where are the youths who may repair it?
where is faith?
where is asylum?
where are the banished apostles?
why are the soliders weeping
why are the children f**king?
why are the swallows frozen?
where is brother flag?
where is sister sky?
why do loons sing dirges to dizzy reeds in white ponds of mellow?
where is decency?
where is chivalry?
where is conviction?
why have the roses vanished?
where sleeps the sedated harlequin?
why does he groan in holy narcosis?
why is God dead?
why do towers scream your name in the hysterical city?
why does the seraph of youth giggle beside a dungeon of burning forsythias?
why is our world gargling war?
why were the jungles raped?
why does stained glass shatter?
why do we count our blessed relics on gram scales?
why does tumult heave its florescent bullets?
why does oil kill boys in umber deserts?
when will we relinquish our visionless joy?
when does holy water freeze?
does it?
why do aging, jowled executives raise blue collars with double Windsor nooses?
why are there eyes on the walls?
why are there fingers in my ashtray?
why are there blond follicles in my dreams?
why is my cigarette an earthworm?
why are my fingers also earthworms?
why do angels where impossible masks of imp?
why does the moon watch us from its chalky halo?
why does the jester carry a gun?
why dont fallen heroes rise?
why does your breath freeze my heart?
why do white gargoyles jive and snicker outside rotting cathedrals?
why is love so strange to me?
why am i so strange to you?
why do rows of lordless mages swirl in storms of syntax
where are the gems concealed?
why do popes weep and undress in secret?
where are the golems of drugs and noise and charmless love?
where bubbles the trail of glass melted by the paranoid druids of absinthe?
(when) will we make love to the universe?
when will America make love to their Iphones