BOOMBOX
we sat peacefully
you beat us up
we laughed
at you
you beat us up
we took pictures
you beat us up
the world said
no more
more
you beat us up
you told the world
we did the beating
you beat
us up
we took
a beating
we showed the world
our scars, our wound,
our bruises
you beat us up
the world said
that’s enough
we walked into your
high sanctuary
playing
a boombox
boombox boombox
boombox boombox
had
a party
celebrating
your disappearance
STRINGS truth beauty the puppet moves, speaks I pull a few strings not my usual bag to first cause anything but when it talked slanted, funny, out of the side of its mouth I bore a hole through its wooden brain put a shot through its temple when I peepd through the hole not exactly suffused in wisdom or, since you request it, resonant with your symbolism guidimg to the light the overwhelming light
MAMBA METAPHOR
you called me
animal
thought to
myself “that’s
a metaphor”
think I must be
an animal there just
to be stamped on
crushed, einsatzed and
gas chambered
and it is there in the script
in your vision of, and
for reality
what you see
must become,
must be
even if you have to
slaughter all the children
animal children
of the rest of humanity
animal humanity
but my pen
is black inked and
silver grey on the outside
its nib
poised like a fang
ergo
this poem, writhing and
striking
exacting an absolute
price
from being
forced into this corner,
put in this posture
is a black mamba
it is my
totem for the day
my creature of choice
******
you called me
animal
thought to
myself “that’s
a metaphor”
throwing linguistic
Phosphorous in
your general direction
sticking you
with enough drops of
neurotoxin
to kill half
your army
I see
you still have issues, your
anger rising
anger born of fear
fear clinging to
survival
that evolution is about, all about
about only
the crushing of the weak
the triumph of the strong
so
whilst you still can
whilst the venom is with
horrible curiosity
feeding
into your system
pressing
every wrong button
throwing every wrong switch
disabling every
vital lever
finding out
what makes you tick
then smashing the clock
whilst we wait just a few minutes
for the demonic chemistry to work
behind this deconstructive
procedure
just
pass the torch on
you
will no longer
carry
slide into prayer and
plea for vengeance from
your slick
wooden god
*****
you called me
animal
thought to
myself “that’s
a metaphor”
sometimes they
are wild, unpredictable
can cross
into reality
this in
their nature to
follow their shadow, unleash
the dark program
remain dangerously true
to both
species and brand
poems 2 die for