Were I to dwell a day
in the den of my enemies.
What would we say
of the corpses they ******
and threw in the corner?
Their history torn to ribbons
and chained to the same toilets
from which they garner
their greatest thoughts and values.
How many burning crosses
would dawn their books?
How many hoods for the wash?
Who-
pray-tell
does the washing?
The husks of flesh cut into pounds
festering on a shelf somewhere.
Once colored and cultured,
now decaying,
both in smell and in sight.
All by design.
At an oaken feasting table.
I see them eat the termites
as appetizers.
So many holes, it looks like dry split bone.
Some monstrous creature
that never had blood to spill.
From the corner of their slack jawed mouths
I see the wine swish
and drip
and drench.
They talk about Andrew Jackson
and the Civil War.
As I fight the urge
to light myself on fire.
Oct 28, 2020
Oct 28, 2020 at 11:28 PM UTC
Were I to dwell a day
in the den of my enemies.
What would we say
of the corpses they ******
and threw in the corner?
Their history torn to ribbons
and chained to the same toilets
from which they garner
their greatest thoughts and values.
How many burning crosses
would dawn their books?
How many hoods for the wash?
Who-
pray-tell
does the washing?
The husks of flesh cut into pounds
festering on a shelf somewhere.
Once colored and cultured,
now decaying,
both in smell and in sight.
All by design.
At an oaken feasting table.
I see them eat the termites
as appetizers.
So many holes, it looks like dry split bone.
Some monstrous creature
that never had blood to spill.
From the corner of their slack jawed mouths
I see the wine swish
and drip
and drench.
They talk about Andrew Jackson
and the Civil War.
As I fight the urge
to light myself on fire.
This is another piece from my political series. It's based on dumb words from farcical political figures. Feel the disdain!
Request permission to use this poem