Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Poem in Mourning
Weary as an old plow,
dulled blades from too many rotations,
rusty red,
Death looms on every channel.
Don't they ever tire of the swords?
Slicing brains like so much red meat,
cleaved in the womb,
No blood, just catsup, to give it that
all American flavor.
Savor It
is what we have made it, gourmet
sushi,
served with
bitter herbs and ginger,
under headstones
made of ash.
ⓒ 2010 The Unknown Candidate
dulled blades from too many rotations,
rusty red,
Death looms on every channel.
Don't they ever tire of the swords?
Slicing brains like so much red meat,
cleaved in the womb,
No blood, just catsup, to give it that
all American flavor.
Savor It
is what we have made it, gourmet
sushi,
served with
bitter herbs and ginger,
under headstones
made of ash.
ⓒ 2010 The Unknown Candidate
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)