AT ROME
they look back
longingly at Rome
whose triremes ruled
the Mediterranean
whose legions kept
control over
much of the
known world
whose slaves rebelled
and were crucified
along the entire
length
of the Appian Way
by the monstrously
rich General, Marcus Crassus
who would come to
be captured by the Parthians
and fed molten gold
DEAD DOG
Truth is a
dead dog
let it rot, let
it putrefact
let it smell
let
it stink
don’t let them bury it
hide or celebrate
the fact
it is dead
with their complicity
by their agency
don’t let them cover
it will concrete or
a brass plaque
build a mausoleum
a cenotaph
the mother
of all monuments
give speeches in its
praise, celebrate its
former life
for if truth is dead
there are no lies
no duplicity
no hypocrisy.
so
dead or not let
them not
bury truth
let it lie where they slew it
let it stink.
ASHES AND RUINS ashes and ruins so much to plant now space to build but do not worry the desert will bloom again blood red flowers sprouting out of the savage sand (it is part of the plan)
TECHNICALLY SPEAKING Let the suit speak the brain it hosts not up to the job so swaddled, entirely clothy has taken a sheet and set sail so let the suit speak the brain sail off into the distance where it might be allowed to think its own thoughts speak out of turn.
OWNED here in this city where the great founders are buried lies a tomb with flowers a physician lies here a healer, curer of diseases, all human ills pity the disease he could not cure, a sickness that has spread like wildfire infected all in this region was the sickness that owned him that drove him led to his death and burial here out of the light, in this revered resting place
FALL when the mighty fall into abject stupidity what hope is there for everyday people? whose only sin is to vote idiocy into power again and again to the delight of us all
RAW this war is raw it is tartare it is war that needs to smash everything slosh blood everywhere forget tactical principle it has other points to prove it is war where the bloodshed needs to be bathed in be tasted how otherwise will its glory be revered by all?
TROLL IN MY LIVING ROOM Came across a troll in my living room there on my laptop on every phone bashing a big drum like those cave trolls in an orc army not a beat to ever dance to unless you have flat, fat feet.
AND NOW WE KNOW and now we know a Heaven on Earth is not for sharing the beauty of its precincts matched by the horror of its walls and the power that is prayed for in its golden temples seem so cynical in the light of the multitudes who suffer in this life
TUMBLE I saw you take a tumble fall off the stairway to heaven that great guitar riff playing in the background and so you fell plunged further hit harder than him hurled headlong in that poem by Milton the whole of humanity screamed at your fate demanded you be saved but you did not, could not budge your crimes, though spin-doctored were insanely terrible.
poems 2 die for