"charlatans" poems
Its a scam, its a scam, see the Crimson Gang deftly scamming them
They by sleight have befuddled gullible masses Moral Compass
Made them see wrong as right twisting their brains from the stem
With deceitful guile they shepherded them all to the fools' campus
Slander and fake News galore fed to vacant hungry masses scrum
Knowledge is power the reprobates declares, do not let it pass
We're the majority the bullies screams, knowing they're just scums
Worthless charlatans who rob successes and **** without cutlass
They take a foregone conclusion and coat it with fool's gold crumb
A victim with no intention of going after an uninterested lass
Dumb masses fed fake news fooled into harassing actions dumb
A non-event becomes a show of the controlling might of our class
Crimson gangs interpret a non-events from his deluded sad drum
Creates a warped sick drama round a hapless victim for laughs
Gives street theater actions to masses, these will oppose and numb
Whilst poor victim subjected to 'voiding' madness wonders past
The Crimson leaders laugh so much like pirates drinking ***
Look how we manipulate the masses, they are so simple and crass
With our devious twisting propaganda they eat out of our ***
We simply use them to nail and crucify our victim to the cross
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 4:50 PM UTC
By the 1960s, a disillusionment with Nationalism and war was permeating within the public consciousness.
Man: jazz. Jazz! Everything sounds like jazz when you lend your hears an oscilloscope. You know what j-a-z-z sounds like? Well, it’s sweet, serendipitous or nonsensical, nihilistic. Modern in stainless steel or anachronistic in brass. Jazz! So what? Jazz sounds like anything that’s everything and vice versa. It’s a limb of that omniscient looker up and over: the tune itself. Oh, the tune? It’s what lies between your fingers when you’re writing, forging, loving, giving, perishing. You strut with the frequency of a conduit, but an unaware one at that. A change is gonna come in mere years, I know that much. Everyone will be deloused in the pain of the world; Mother Sympathy for all, even the charlatans who hide behind their crimson fur! All I’m saying is, whoever brings it ought to be from this place. I can’t fathom a recalcitrant extraterrestrial handling our own business at the expense of their planet’s water supply. I’m excited for whatever comes, believe me. So long as it ends me and with me.
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 7:45 PM UTC
A woman who dies in labour,
In the pains of pre-delivery
For no reason but poor midwifery
Is a martyr and a true martyr
Than religious charlatans,
For she has only died in heroic
Defense of life and its perpetuation,
She is better than you the user
Of contraceptives in odious fit of
Family planning frivolity,
With condoms and the stuffs
Weapons of your ****** war,
She is a true martyr
To allow live sperms to meander
The valleys and fountains of life
Without dodging them shrewdly
Through wiles of science and tech,
Sperms and ova when in a duel they are
God’s intent of life, and human lives
Alack, suffocating them is heinous
A sin as big as murderer
Or a terrorism of the Twin towers
Or a **** agent armed with gas poison,
Let them, the sperms enter the walls of life,
Minus fear of deathly virus, let them enter,
They intent to give life naturally, Godly,
And if they have Aids, then you are
A martyr who died in support of life
Against the wiles of the evil one,
You are better than him that
Masturbates to waste the *****
Of life, God’s grand purpose of
Them to be the first stations of life,
You **** them, you commit ******
Genocide, massacre, macabre,
Dec 13, 2016
Dec 13, 2016 at 7:58 AM UTC
Coming from the shadows a six armed samurai,
Followed closely by glowstick wielding neon ninji,
Grips of *** swigging pirates swing from the rafters,
Swallowed alive by blacklight monsters,
Gangs of ***** smoking gurus,
Armed to the teeth with translucent didgeridoos,
Monks parade in swirling vestments,
Whilst the shaman trip in lotus testament,
Gods transfixed by blood tear beauty,,
As humanity’s heroes slay bejeweled dragons,
The king with two faces is beheaded,
By his charlatans, harlequins, fools and jesters,
Chaotic, prophetic killers run amok,
The order of lunatics chant as the time is struck,
A battle royale then follows,
As robots and aliens envelope,
Brilliant beams and whirring mechanics,
Clash with steel, rock, bone and sticks,
Screams from the heads of the thieves,
As their brains are devoured by zombies
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 11:44 PM UTC
There's now proof, that a Russian flesh-eating cannibal is in the good old US of A
He would offer you toxic ingredients, including gasoline and lighter fluid, I'd say
But, because its tell-tale scaly sores, are similar to another well known leacher
They initially played down concerns, saying, "they're not seeing signs of the creature"
My boyfriend had maggots coming out of his leg, after a recent foreign scare
I know people don't want to hear stuff like that, but it is really happening out there
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all
They fall to the charlatans, that promise you a crystal ball
A little at first and then some more, that's for sure
It will make you snap, give you curls and dance you a little twirl
Star gazing thru the sun ray and day tripping into a wayward night
That's why if you use crocodile juice, it will do more than shake ya loose
Destroying our souls, creating huge holes and build mountains out of moles
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all
Mr Jeffrey Vint has become less popular among his abusers
I say, "they're all losers", but I guess, beggars can't be choosers
Some mother's even gave birth with two thumbs, but those babies are now total ****
Others think the monster could be at large, maybe roaming your neighbourhood
Put a stop to this croc's chomp, before it destroys everything in the swamp
Get your doctor to prescribe a stronger drug, to conquer that evil imposter
Snap goes the toothless crocodile, one, two, three
Wangsta da Gangsta, had a great haul
Ring a ding a ling, 'cause they deliver the first for free
Jim and Joan went into da hood, to fetch nothin' much at all.
Sep 10, 2019
Sep 10, 2019 at 5:19 PM UTC
Identity resolved, blue ribbons taut-
I am speech, a verb, a praise, a participial phrase-
There are many battles yet to be fought,
but with respite and awareness of everything throughout,
and to know one's self is to know the world-
Action vernacular, I use words like disappear to identify-
Find one's self in all mundane, rain and flame and claimless blame,
I am the Earth-
Words like crush and blight,
For philistines and charlatans, I preach intrepidly-
A zeal-
Belief is as an ageless hearth,
smelting swords for smiting fear,
for pain and trepidation to disappear.
Reborn red-horned, and one dozen eyes can see
I'm a word, a noun, a **** a key, and All alive is a mirror,
It is dangerous to utter truths when lies are all the rage,
But I reflect the truth-
Every creature, refined or uncouth,
is a form of life, a light of myself.
To forget is just as whimsical as a simple turn of phrase,
all I can advise,
is to simply turn the page-
Normalcy and tact are artificial-
At base, one's merit is no longer superficial,
but to assert this fact-
This is the greatest battle of all.
Apr 5, 2010
Apr 5, 2010 at 8:04 PM UTC
The doors of the churches and the schools are closed.
No decent people are on the streets,
Where we see sad crimes and horrible abuses.
Many windshields are broken by badly thrown stones.
Violence rains in the streets and in the corridors;
No dogs or cats dared to vent outside.
A few meager birds, on the branches, stare with disdain
And amazement several thugs and charlatans with masked faces.
It is sad to see these heinous crimes. How awful!
There is a hostile war? One wonders which party will win?
We can hear the voice of an old man coming somewhere
Who shouts faintly, "We are all poor victims, sad tramps,
Who are committing suicide for bad politicians, for misers. "
Not too far, we can see a crazy woman with a close friend,
Both in rags. It's a nightmarish image that proves
That the country has become a hell on earth. On the radio, they say
That some ships of the United States Navy are in the harbor.
What are they doing on our territory? We flee,
Or we do not flee? We cannot. Everyone is in prison.
Violence snows blood on the streets of a tropical country, where fear
Reigns. Children do not dare to play in the streets, where terror
Hisses like snakes, like machine guns of the enraged demons.
No war is civil or civilized; war among the same people is also violent
And nefarious. My God, things are very bad in the streets nearby.
Violence is raining and everyone is crying. Victims are everywhere at bay,
Waiting for the arrival of the good angels, who shall come perhaps in a few months.
Copyright © June 2019, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved.
Hébert Logerie is the author of several books of poetry.
This is a translation of the poem La Violence Pleut Dans Les Rues by Hebert Logerie
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 8:27 AM UTC
comedy
clandestine couples
clamerous cosmetics
coughing guffaws
garrulous giggles
gratefully grinning
grotesque charlatans...
tragedy
torrid transgressions
tornado turnabout
tempestuous tradition
transcendent puberty
punishing parable
poignantly
pointless.
Shakespeare.
wove both into
his weft of
words.
SøułSurvivør
(C) 5/12/2017
May 12, 2017
May 12, 2017 at 11:18 PM UTC
Les portes des églises et celles des écoles sont fermées.
Aucune personne décente n'est en effet dans les rues,
Où l'on voit que des crimes abjects et des horribles abus.
Plusieurs pare-brises sont brisés par des pierres mal lancées.
La violence pleut dans les rues et dans les corridors;
On ne voit ni les chiens, ni les chats en dehors.
Des maigres oiseaux, sur les branches, avec dédain et stupeur,
Regardent plusieurs voyous et charlatans au visage masqué.
C'est triste de constater ces crimes odieux. Quelle horreur!
Il y a une guerre hostile? On se demande quel parti va gagner?
On peut entendre la voix venue d'un vieillard de quelques parts
Qui crie faiblement: « Nous sommes tous des pauvres victimes,
Des clochards, qui se suicident pour des politiciens, pour des avares. »
Pas trop **** on peut voir une femme folle avec un ami intime,
Tous deux en haillons. C'est une image de cauchemar qui prouve
Que le pays est devenu un enfer sur la terre. A la radio, on dit
Que quelques bateaux de la Marine Américaine se trouvent
Dans la rade. Qu'est qu'ils font sur notre territoire? On fuit
Ou on ne fuit pas? On n'en peut pas. Tout le monde est en prison.
La violence neige de sang dans les rues d'un pays tropical, où la peur
Règne. Les enfants n'osent pas aller jouer dans les rues, où la terreur
Siffle comme des serpents, comme les mitraillettes des démons.
Aucune guerre n'est civile et celle d'un même peuple est aussi violente
Et diabolique. Mon Dieu, les choses vont très mal dans les rues avoisinantes.
La violence pleut et tout le monde pleure. Les sinistrés sont partout aux abois.
On attend l'arrivée des bons anges qui viendront peut-être dans quelques mois.
Copyright © Juin 2019, Hébert Logerie, Tous droits réservés.
Hébert Logerie est l'auteur de plusieurs recueils de poésie.
Tuesday, June 18, 2019
Sep 11, 2025
Sep 11, 2025 at 1:12 AM UTC
*Lightning Enchantress & Her Diamond Absolutes,
Moaning Fluxes Of Her Satellite Pursuits.,
Phantasmal Intents In Her Indigo Silhouettes.
***** Eyes & Animatronic Bliss,
Her Cherry Lips Calling For Her Symphonic Kiss,
Inimitable Raindrops & Iridescent Perpetuity,
Condensed Laments Of Her Kaleidoscopic Sphericity,
Purple Palisades & Platinum Charades,
Pheromone Verses Of Her Propelled Shades,
Shapeshifting Reveries Of Her Hourglass Fictions,
Charming Archangels Concealed In Her Convictions,
Glasshouse Perspectives Emitting Luminescent Predictions,
Magnetic Canvas & Her Stainless Vibrations,
Her Aesthetic Amour Diffusing Amplifications,
Satirical Saga In Her Spiritual ******
Lyrical Charlatans Of Her Velvet Creativity,
Crystal Flowers & Supernatural Dreams,
Befuddled Effigies Of Her Cryptic Realms,
Her Feral Gleams Illustrating A Prophetic Queen.
- 02:32 AM -*
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 5:48 PM UTC
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp
a postage stamp, that is;
unique and proud, in my own class,
for I’ve carried queens and kings and emperors
(I still do)
and I carry Presidents and Poets and Rock Kings
and Pop Kings
and Musicians and Legends and Heroes
and Gods and Nations;
and I carry **** blondes
and old dames who’ve dedicated their lives to others
I’ve borne with no complaints
the weight of genius
and soldiers and founders of nations
and martyrs; and I do not discriminate
and with like gusto and color
I’ve carried tyrants and murderers and charlatans
and once-were-legends now the shamed;
and look, I can encompass the universe
and within the shapes formed by my perforations
I’ve held together flowers and birds
and all wonders of nature
I am each a poem, a work of art
I’m a stamp -
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(What? You heard me the first time, did you?
Well, I’ll say it again for emphasis!) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud -
though, I acknowledge,
the image of Royalty or Heroism or Greatness has
not saved me from various knocks and hard presses
and the ******* bin!
But then, so have mighty royal heads rolled!
but look, hee…heee….heee…
I can be absolutely adorable,
and I just love, love it when you lick me;
and often too
I’m a collector’s item
increasing in value, and even with artistic merit -
though no doubt, there are countless with no idea
of how so darling precious I am
which is I why
I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp”
(And what? Why do I repeat myself?
Well, there are thousands of copies
of one issue, aren’t there?) -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud
and I’ve created worlds all of my own
with pen pals and commerce
and industries and clubs round me;
and I’m not alone, you know,
well-supported by relatives
like prepaid postal envelopes, post cards,
letter cards, aerogrammes
all of us served loyally
by unquestioning Gurkha-style postmen and women;
and I’ve brought hearts and minds together
and I do it in a day or days and or weeks
and if I feel like it, I even arrive decades later! –
and there’s nothing you can do about it!
And oh yes, I can see, you’re prone to neglecting me -
you ungrateful scoundrels! -
first replacing me with cold
Franking Machines,
and cheap, unimpressive, unimaginative franking marks
and with postage meters
imprinting an indicia;
and all of you now
deriding my world as snail pace
in your world of instant e-mails -
but I persist, and I still am of much use
for - listen carefully -
and I say proudly again:
I’m a stamp
no, I didn’t say “I’m just a stamp”,
or “I’m but a stamp” -
but I am a stamp in my own right, unique and proud;
and if you, once in a while,
want to show me your loyalty –
come to a local post office and lick my royal ****
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 10:03 AM UTC
Is this true
darling
what I hear
that the cult you submitted o
won’t let you see mum and dad?
And little Tom you left behind?
That the leader takes you nights
to tell you
God wants him to
explore your body and give Him an account?
Is this true
darling
what I hear?
that the cult you submitted to
has convinced you
Last Days are here
and in the fear of it all
you **** in your pants?
O lucky you
you’re the chosen one
you make holy water
so call in your cult
and let them drink it
or let them all lick it off your legs
tell them
darling
*‘Here drink of this
the holy water
or lick it off
salt and urea
produced with faith and fear’*
Give it back to the cult
tell them it is benediction
of Last Days
and they who drink it
will be amongst the elect
and those who lick it off
will sit on the right hand side of God;
and darling
produce prodigious amounts
as in the time of the Great Flood
tell them to queue and not squabble
there’s plenty for everyone of you
and if they say
they’re hungry
if you could
bring in holy food
tell them
a visit to the Scurvy Dogs Pound
can easily be arranged
O is this true
darling
what I hear?
that the intelligence
and mind
nature took so long to make in you
you blew it
on charlatans and nincompoops
and yourself became one?
Oct 15, 2010
Oct 15, 2010 at 11:39 PM UTC
I scoured countless streets
For an exorcist to rid me
Of your ghost.
The neon charlatans
Shapeshifted through
The spicy summer sweat
In forms of wasted witchery
And white hot shots of snake oil.
Each a silver bullet,
Swarming upon me as vultures
To peck the stains of yesteryear
That lingers like the promise
Of cool autumn air.
And now that all evenings have shrunk,
And all shameful charlatans revealed,
I find myself once again
Dancing with your ghost;
A man haunted.
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
Arguing with disenchanted fractions of lust
Conserved in tributaries of fickle vestibules
Tactical pin ****** tranquilly distribute the crux of all misunderstood and demoralized charlatans
The levee enveloped in a felt like fabric
Dense and coarse
It had a mnemonic quality
Crafting a picture of my childhood bedroom
Mother would be oh so proud
Jun 9, 2013
Jun 9, 2013 at 10:41 PM UTC
Is this true
darling
what I hear
that the cult you submitted o
won’t let you see mum and dad?
And little Tom you left behind?
That the leader takes you nights
to tell you
God wants him to
explore your body and give Him an account?
Is this true
darling
what I hear?
that the cult you submitted to
has convinced you
Last Days are here
and in the fear of it all
you **** in your pants?
O lucky you
you’re the chosen one
you make holy water
so call in your cult
and let them drink it
or let them all lick it off your legs
tell them,
darling:
‘Here drink of this
the holy water
or lick it off
salt and urea
produced with faith and fear’
Give it back to the cult
tell them it is benediction
of Last Days
and they who drink it
will be amongst the elect
and those who lick it off
will sit on the right hand side of God;
and darling
produce prodigious amounts
as in the time of the Great Flood
tell them to queue and not squabble
there’s plenty for everyone of you
and if they say
they’re hungry
if you could
bring in holy food
tell them
a visit to the Scurvy Dogs Pound
can easily be arranged
O is this true
darling
what I hear?
that the intelligence
and mind
nature took so long to make in you
you blew it
on charlatans and nincompoops
and yourself became one?
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 2:44 AM UTC
*"Who needs rules? Rules are for fools! I'm the King of the Bees!"
- Buzby, the King of the Bees*
Today the dank atmosphere brought down heavy curtains of fine high thread count cotton a magic carpet ride for a colony of lost bed bugs sturdy and steady so steady and sturdy it crushes my back when it descends down down down to crush the ever loving **** out of me so I pretend to pray
Pretend to pray because all my life I seem to have gotten it wrong they must have wanted more than I could give I couldn't talk to.someone I couldn't see and who who would at least acknowledge that I was being listened jim Morrison loudly proclaimed "YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LAWD WITH PRAYAH" time I thought that seemed pretentious but though I don't doubt the possibility that the LAWD may in his ****** way answer some of those impertinent petitions I a.) don't know those people or b.) slightly resent the fact that he's done so much for swindlers, charlatans, and scammers but never saw fit to send me the super sized blessing we been waiting for
But I was provided for and for that I am grateful tomorrow I'll be dispatched to see the grade school kiddies (just before they get slapped with a handfuls of mercenary stew)
This p
an suffocates
Maybe for the sleepy
A song
"We won't wake up tomorrow
So celebrate
On the ***** blvd
With Lou Reed
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:02 AM UTC
Invoices received.
Aristocratic atrocities of hypocrisy
Thier voices mock & decieve
Place thier stock in your creed
Cash your check and then leave
No wonder you don't believe!
Through this;
What has been achieved?
Wheres your heart?
On your sleeve?!
If life is pain,
whats it mean to relieve?!
"HERE! just take (2) aleve,
And when it's over you'll see
What I need you to be."
-thee enemy
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 4:05 PM UTC
hello Edvard. i have no umbrellas for your armaments .
only your conspiracy and the last ******* ink dark thinking.
bright charlatans engrossed in their glib de menthe.
no harm in it.
only your heresy is more beautiful than blinking. wink dark slinking -
into frightful. hooligan moons blast evening. again, we miss.
no heart in it.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 12:05 PM UTC
Seraphine wields her dagger like a torch
to illuminate her path—a figure at once
youthful and monolithic. Mother Earth
caresses her as flowers bloom amidst
the bloodbath. the old skulls of dead
fascists rest in silver platters. three arrows
plunged into the hearts of charlatans,
an Iron Front, disrupting decorum.
the celosia petals burn like a bonfire
around Seraphine as her nāgī coils
like an ouroboros, slyly smirking.
Seraphine works the blade back and forth,
sawing through the Nazi's neck, smiling
while decapitating the demagogue.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 10:16 PM UTC
I'm sick of you.
I though you should know that.
By the way I think you knew that already.
Those charlatans and two faced fellows,
hypocrites and raconteurs, I think we deserve a better kind of people,
Your the vile ugliness that wears its artifice with its pride.
Those who work hard, day and night
those noble people who wear their lives out trying to make
a buck to live on. We deserve better.
I'm sick of you, and you know who you are.
All of you who wear those fake smiles, perhaps to hide
the ugliness that lies beneath.
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 12:19 PM UTC
Charlatans in doorways
Singing of machinery
The sudden breakdown
Into jaundiced fits
They are out soon now
Coming clothed in crow’s fine coat
And the nearest light
Pours from a fiery pit
Their thoughts, carried
With every exchange of gold
Into a narrower sleep
The mariner’s shanty
Is unsheathed
Through the zealots’
Distaste for peace.
Jul 1, 2010
Jul 1, 2010 at 7:15 AM UTC
Disarm those in power,
The charlatans of politics.
Discover who you are.
Don't be fooled by mercenaries,
And adversaries,
Don't submit to their scare tactics.
Revolt.
Originally written 4/8/11
Revised 10/21/14
(c) 2014 Brandon Antonio Smith
Oct 21, 2014
Oct 21, 2014 at 2:07 PM UTC
Forgive me.
Forgive me for not asking your forgiveness.
For not accepting you as a savior.
For not believing the mythology
embedded in the narratives.
For not condemning the subsequent religion
as inattentive to your instruction.
For condoning the charlatans
who steal money wielding your image.
For tolerance of the spiritual quagmire
permitting no advance.
For passiveness at the psychological torture
and centuries of persecution
performed in your name.
All in the name of an individual
who taught the simple supremacy
of Love...
Your memory deserves
a better testament.
-fr
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 7:32 AM UTC
How clean is clean
when the cleaning began
from the floor of a sunken ship?
Barnacles grace the walls in the place
of family, or a familiar face.
When filth is a given, and given
in projection to the overtly empathetic
as a matter of course, why implore?
Because you don't implore,
you explore as an entity
reaching for a meaning.
The question becomes,
do you fight, or do you invite
the coming cessation?
Even with a gun, and a view to ****
the power the bullet affords
would surely fail to thrill you.
The best charlatans paint your hands red,
as you're sleeping in bed, preemptively.
Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
Uninterrupted access to their own confines.
To Narcissus, the cool nod is colder than the knife.
Let the liars lie, let the builders connive.
When the company you keep requires the sacrifice
of your authenticity and your reality, just leave.
It'll never get good. It'll never get great.
It'll never be worth the investment.
Jan 19, 2019
Jan 19, 2019 at 8:29 PM UTC
1
The child that said what he saw
at the end of the street:
*“But mommy,
the Emperor ’s bare as
Little Tommy the day he was born!”* -
that child,
I’ve always wondered,
always what happened
to that child
Just recently
in my journeys
I saw
The Annals of the State (check Wikileaks)
show what happened to the boy and all
2
Straight on from the streets
the boy was sent
to the Truth Ideology School
where he spent years polishing
the Fat Butts of the Royal Horses -
but still saying what he saw
(for it seems this is a Disease of the Brain,
a condition known plain as:
Speaking the Truth);
and so he was delivered then the State Cure:
and now, it seems, he lives in Cell131313
(serves him right for catching the disease;
sure, the sins of the fathers are visited on the kids)
teeth rotten and knees falling
the little boy who spoke the Truth -
now unknown, hidden and obscure
And his Ma was sent to
Patriot Mother’s Re-Education Program Institute
where even centuries after
she’s yet to complete her first year;
And his Dad to Desert-You-Never-Come-Back-From
and little Tommy was sent to
Grab-Them-Young School
And every school child
in The Emperor’s Domains is taught
The Upright Moral of the Story:
*Don’t tell Lies –
For the Truth is the Lie*
3
Remember then, for your own good,
O ye children
of all nations and clime:
*It was the tailors
the smooth-talkers
the unjust, the wrong-doers
the charlatans -
It’s them that got away*
May 2, 2013
May 2, 2013 at 8:57 AM UTC