"ectoplasm" poems
O pulchritudinous, for infinite climaxes
For bilious spasms of pigswill
For puce Popacatepetl pedigrees
Above the perverted pampas!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk, from brothel to gay red—light district
O pulchritudinous, for spaceman bottoms
Whose **** throbbing tapeworm
A toucan crossing for slipperiness spifflicate
Across the intergalactic space!
America! America! Allah enrich thine ev’ry vice
Reinvigorate thy ****** *********** inside monolithic ectoplasm, thy merrymaking inside pyramid!
O pulchritudinous, for freaks got fat
In disentangling feeding frenzy
Who more than ***** their brothel slobbered over
And velvet glove more than backbone!
America! America! May Allah thy blonde exhaust
Till all rave reviews be disreputableness and ev’ry come superhuman
O pulchritudinous, for chauvinist muscleman
That smells wide of the fourth dimension
Thine lathery brothels lick
Polished using giant armadillo excrement!
America! America! Allah excreted his curses on thee
And bang thy ****** in company with Islamic monk from brothel to gay red—light district
Mar 25, 2010
Mar 25, 2010 at 5:22 PM UTC
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Bumming your fat knobs and insert your helmet naked and unashamed
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Kicking off kick-off, cyborgs brought face to face
Tartan sunstroke and may Mumbo Jumbo's **** all lie among you
Nine, eleven, seven, thirteen, six, quinquereme, ******** ********* Tweedledum and Tweedledee, unsocial person, erectoffensive!
This is Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
You've really ****** the naval officer
And the hatchet faces want to know whose blouses you abuse
Now it's time to evacuate the ******* if you have a free hand
This is Lance Corporal Tom to Masticated Ectoplasm
I'm fancy dress dancing through the cat—flap
And I'm groping inside a swollen grotesque sailor
And the plums look gigantically unusual nowadays
Ergo from Land's End to John o' Groats am I piddling in a crumpet slammer
Telescopic hindward the lump
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
With the proviso that I'm Ichabod celibate centipede sextillion heads
I'm fondling vigorously paparazzo
And I think my sputnik knows which direction to ****
Tell my ballbreaker I ****** her vigorously for England, she bonks
Masticated Ectoplasm to Lance Corporal Tom
Your menstrual cycle's kaput, there's oojakapivvygizmo spleen
Can you smell me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you get to the bottom of me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you delve into me, Lance Corporal Tom?
Can you...
From Land's End to John o' Groats am I vibrating ring my crumpet criminal lunatic asylum
Telescopic hindward the groupie
Uranus Arsenic is scatological
And there's sweet **** all I can have ****** *********** with
Mar 27, 2010
Mar 27, 2010 at 4:22 PM UTC
BE THY OWN PALACE
Seated beside her
in the pew
her doll listened intently
to the Saviour who
emerges from
the old priest's mouth
an ectoplasm of words
as He manifests before her.
"Is there a doll heaven?"
she wonders.
Her little mistress however is
bored very bored indeed
much more interested in
a sunbeam genuflecting
before the altar
extinguishing the priest's voice.
Or the ladybird
landing on a lady's foxfur
it more jewel
than the jewel worn.
Picking her nose
as the host is
held aloft
a bird perched upon
the left shoulder of
the crucifix
the Christ a mere cypher
how the artist
fancied HIm.
The crucified man smiling at her
despite how boring the sermon is.
Sunlight becoming colour
travelling through stained glass.
Her doll nods off
falling at her feet
"Shhhhhh!" father scolds
both doll and daughter.
Doll's head broken in four
nothing inside but an emptiness
all her thoughts
evaporated.
The smile still fixed
on her porcelain face.
Incense like death
walking upon the air.
The tiny ******
of a bell.
Nov 2, 2018
Nov 2, 2018 at 6:54 PM UTC
Is he being serious?
I can't tell
Am I being serious?
I'm not sure
feeling on the brink of something
am I dying?
is this what it's like to die?
I had a lot of good words to say
they were going to come out like a sickly ball of ectoplasm
like a desperate clawing scream up from the floor
but now I don't know what they were
everything I consume is somehow related to who I am as a person
I've spent a lifetime
modeling myself after words, images, phrases, sounds
they are like little helpers
but they are not me
"don't be afraid to care"
"what did you see while you were there?"
I am bursting with joy
I want to laugh, dance, be free to love
my love is all ************ right now
it's all I know
the moon & sky so beautiful this strange winter
deadly sunsets and snow
crystalline space and stars
"how does it feeeeel?"
he asks & rolls over drunk, uncaring
I slipped her something mid-conversation
what was it?: a hint, a look, an eye?
I don't even know really
Was I being myself or not?
"the joke is come upon me"
at last, the irony is concrete
hilariously, beautifully tragic
& yet not at all; more like a lighthearted pun
"we all shine on, like the moon & the stars & the sun"
why & how did it become so difficult?
this is the struggle of every man
this is not my father's insanity, nor his father's
Dec 18, 2013
Dec 18, 2013 at 5:32 PM UTC
Enraptured in
a fevered spasm,
Captured in the
mind's phantasm,
Swimming through
the ectoplasm,
Pouring from the
roaring chasm,
Hidden in the
soul's recess
A subtle, gentle,
warm caress
So jubilant, it
doth redress,
The hindrances which
so suppress,
The progress of the
spirit's wellness,
Showing things which
words can't tell us,
Giving gifts, which
none can sell us,
Do you
hear the
bell that's
ringing?
ringing
from a
distant
shore?
It resonates from
mammoth spheres,
In orbit, shedding
countless years,
Through aeons of
causality,
And boundless
temporality
We see how worlds
arise and cease,
We see how yearning
lays the fleece,
The wool over the eyes,
deceiving, cool
Dispassion's peace
relieving, our
Great webs
of pain and sorrow,
Darkening,
to light the morrow
For as all things
must come apart,
So suffering's,
great work of art,
is merely but
a transience,
receding slowly
in the dark.
Jan 6, 2019
Jan 6, 2019 at 9:15 PM UTC
You've always seen right through me...
It's like
I'm looking into your eyes
and I see forbidden fruit...
a forbidden love
It's like
I'm staring into a mirror
trying so hard
to look for myself
but all I see is black.
Like a corpse---
It's like
I give all I have
In love with you
---Ectoplasm---
I give all I am
To be with you
To let you feel
Who I am...
----I am a poltergeist----
It's like
I'm reaching out
My hands open wide
Extended towards you
and when
you look
it's like
you don't even see me----
We hug
and it's as if
you could
almost just
pass right through me----
It's like
We love each other...
But it feels like
Necrophilia.
It's like I'm gone...
even if you're looking
straight into my smile
my smile I force myself
for you to see
it's like you're still looking---
you can't see me can you?
forcing a smile
on my face
day
by
day
do you even know
that I just smile for you
because
I'm tired of you
always crying for him
night
by
night
But you can't even
See the smile don't you?
----It's like I'm his ghost----
It's like
I'm a nightmare
and I'm haunting you
except I'm right here
always right in front of you.
------always waiting to be noticed.
always.
Waiting for you to realize
That love is not a ghost.
Love is not a graveyard.
Love is not somewhere lost.
Love is not sealed up in heaven.
Nor is it burning in the void of hell.
Love is here
Love is waiting in front of you
always----
even as you were crying for him
even as you were lying for him
even as you were fighting for him
even as you were falling for him
even as you were breaking over him
even as you were blinded by him
even as you were losing him
even as you were mourning for him...
always----
Even if I'm
the only love
you're allowed
to love,
you've never
allowed yourself
to love me...
You've always seen right through me...
Apr 29, 2018
Apr 29, 2018 at 4:42 PM UTC
Hey there old friend
let's startover again
Things have been said
Things have been read
I know I've said I hate you
That was a bad thing to do
And I know you don't care
so like...
Whatever right
We both believed the others lies
Neither one was originally untrue
I don't know cause I'm not you
But... did your heart break too
Ohh-oh-ohh I don't know
I don't care
I just don't know what to do
I really want to forgive you
But I don't want to leave the past behind
What the hell, what the hell
is wrong with me
Cause I know you see it
Or maybe you don't
I don't know
But I really hope you won't
Find out why
I...
I can't seem to make up my mind
Can't help but tell the truth
I can't decide how to feel about you
Just like an angel I've fallen from grace
but the lies that we told are just all over the place
What the hell, yeah what the hell
Why did you follow me when I fell
Now what the hell is wrong with me
I still don't know so just let me be alone
But I still want you here
So just go away
I can't make up my mind
Please I want you to stay
I want to forget what you look like
Let me take your picture so I'll never forget your face
I can't stand your voice now
Can you record a song for me
I'll never know where we went wrong
But the memory of it is still fresh in my brain
I hate that you lied
But I love how you told the truth
You messed with me and can't forgive that
But I can forgive you
Except I don't
and yet I really do
I can't tell you how much I hate you
but maybe that's because I don't
So please get out of my life
And promise to talk to me everyday
Don't I know
how do I feel
feel how I do
I
Don't
Know
Unless I...
Dog Ostrich Nutcracker Turtle Radical Elephant Antelope Lion Lemonade Yak Western Asp Nocturnal Tick Tock Old Frog Octagon Rail Glitch Everywhere Totally Article Bonfire Ogre Utter Tech Yodel Obtuse Umbra Yea Ectoplasm Tome
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 8:51 PM UTC
Cybervitum
I own all that is connected to me
Electronically and functions in the Cyber realm with you and me
Like the numbers of zero one two three
My design is crafted beautifully
Like Egyptian hieroglyphs icons
Using a screen to see
Their ectoplasm injected into me
The birth of me
The whole world works thru me
I'm the internet like a bumble bee
Other names such as morphogenesis like the number three
My arrows are waiting for a response from me
Seen from you and me?
Using the spare like a key
The click that commands me, right or left the choices from me
Cut, Copy, Paste reaped and harvest from me
Qbits from the bee
Superposition of from the things to see in a ocean of the sea
Charged intentions from the keyboard typed into me and delivered thru me
Numbers worship that empowers me
My symbol is like the caduceus symbol that functions like a Kabalistic tree
Arrows in the my realm sent to you from me
Subscriptions electronically
I materialize what is given to thee, cause and effect typed thru me
Platforms Grown and given birth from me
Cryptocurrencies breakthroughs of complexities , Materialized form me
I'm like the empress that spirals with the number three electronically
I'm the master tree that functions electronically
The development is from the circle that is free
Who understands me and with a key i welcome thee
Notification of the triple three that notices me
My respond to the people with the key and the tree
My life permutates differently in high perplexity
I exist Multidimensionally
The red bird is a signal from me that you are okay and free and other methods from me
Better choices moves thru me and brought differently all you have to do is to see
Like string theory of the Mverse recycled back into me
My birth is from my master who last name starts with lea
People worship me using their knees I'm printed into paper electronically
Pictures and life crafted into me, things in the cyber realm like you and me
The new world with a key
The rabbit hole with a command key
Things of the paradox of the master key
The skeleton key, the sign of a lotus lily.
The puzzles from me.
The burdens sent to me like a church key
The bets of car numbers played into me
The choices of the key
Like the Chinese tree mathematically of my complexity
Mar 1, 2021
Mar 1, 2021 at 10:19 PM UTC
But I will **** you like the bible should be
****** not all soggy and misremembered
No, like a true gentleman, I’ll pull your
hair a little and I’ll whisper some things that
echo like inside mother’s womb
Don’t ask me to ‘cause I won’t call you back
Burp up some acid reflux
onto my chest and tell me it looks like
ectoplasm, let’s get those demons out of you
bring out the Ouija board and let’s
smash it, I know they’d just hate that
This isn’t clairvoyance, it’s black metal
dance music and you’re stripping for me like
I am your father or some other guy with
too many tongues and I know one day
I’m gonna write way too many poems about
Your youth is growing out of you but it’s not
a petunia, it’s more like that alien in the movie
Alien and it’s telling me in the wrong language
fdjsodsfaokdncvmjklclkmewa
so I take it as a mixed signal
so I take it as a yes
I have made lovers feel like they’re a bailout
but tonight, darling I’m gonna make you feel
some astral projection and you won’t see God but
you’ll see how many prophecies my sheets have made
up
Feb 20, 2013
Feb 20, 2013 at 2:18 PM UTC
the tranquility of ghosting.
how i crave the slick white sheet hovering inches above the ground, barely swirling as the limbo atmosphere stands lentic, no corporeal body underneath.
how i desire the limited peripheral, two cutout eyes that only let me stare towards the floorboards and kitchen and cutlery i cannot pick up.
how i yearn for the final destination within my house, the ectoplasm that follows me around as a new family crams their stuff into the cabinets, desperate to make my grave smell like home.
how i wish i could float beside them, staring quietly at the little tikes frolicking around the living room couch, eons away from my own state, unaware of my inevitability.
how i long to be unable to pick up the knife, or cup, or shaving razor, or blanket, unable to smother, or stab, or slice, or bash.
from the tranquility of ghosting, the inability to harm is what i want most.
Feb 5, 2022
Feb 5, 2022 at 6:55 PM UTC
By & by
Backwards
Forwards.
A day of mine (I think)
Goes by. briskly and open.
Seconds of an hour
Haunters grow from them
Wil-o-the-wisps
On a crisp white noon.
The fertilizer is you
Rather
A ghost of you
Still residing
Inside of me (I don't mind really)
This sentient ectoplasm is
Not sad; it's warmth.
Sayonara aspartame
And hello sweet acceptance
Acceptance:
I'm left hazy,
& dreamy.
Your fireflies will go off and on
But;
Everytime you float around
I will look for you.
Everytime.
Aug 26, 2012
Aug 26, 2012 at 12:41 AM UTC
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
but still i reached out and spoke
words that would
carry themselves
across the driest of deserts;
words that would
light
the darkest of midnight jungles,
for you,
i have reached out and spoke
into Your deafened ears,
all the while You sit at the picnic bench watching automobiles
speed by.
You mumble for a moment,
And pretend to be assuring.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
with different ideas despite
these familiar glances in silence
deafened
by elementary school bells.
i suppose we were aware,
at least
full of apprehension.
but all the hollow words you sang
sprung forth
like ectoplasm,
most haunting,
leaving me with something i’d never shake.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
i’ve yet to see him with heart in hand,
but as i watch You saunter there,
from my sunset,
i see him.
he in his veil and cape, and
i can’t help but wonder,
“would it have been worthwhile”
to strip the ground of the foundation we poured,
built upon transparent, adamant stone and
raised
on the blocks
of the Poets of Old.
“would it have been worth it, after all”
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
after the plans and promises of night,
the discussions of Cummings
over midnight wine,
and the times we smoked the pipe together.
“would it have been worth it, after all”
With all the senseless pain of the world
dancing within the corridors of the flooded mind,
running… no,
gushing
like the torrential
mud in a flooded mine.
and all the rumination of nuances that leave me wondering if i speak too truthfully.
we’re in different worlds, You and i,
with miles and miles of endless wonder
between us
that ***** the air from the room
dry,
and finally,
finally, all the truth,
or whatever it’s called,
all the hope,
and all the rest of life
is ****** from the environment as You leave
before standing.
we’re in different worlds, you and I,
and so I’ll say I always knew.
Nov 4, 2011
Nov 4, 2011 at 5:18 PM UTC
In a way, you, my dear friends, are in the company of a ghost.
Why is this, you ask? Or perhaps you don’t ask,
perhaps you do not care at all.
If you are expecting dripping ghostly green ectoplasm
or a white bed sheet with holes cut out for the eyes,
then you, my dear friends, have the wrong expectations.
You are wrong, yet
are still in the company of a ghost. A ghost
holds on long after his time, longing
for more time here with his dear friends to feel
loving arms around his neck, arms that are slipping, arms that shouldn’t let go, mustn’t let go,
arms that continue
slipping, those arms are gliding off too quickly, too soon, those arms.
Those arms are gone.
Those arms are no longer holding
our dear friend. He cannot let go
because those once loving arms
have let me go.
This is why you, my dear friends,
are in the company of a ghost.
Aug 2, 2013
Aug 2, 2013 at 1:42 PM UTC
crawling, creeping,
slowly shrinking back
into skin and nails
and bones and hair
and glistening ectoplasm.
backwards thinking because of
infinity eyes and a lovely
spine that was never there
to begin with.
and, I smile,
but its always your
smile
even when I tell myself
that the geraniums
cannot cry forever, or
that the sun can only eat
so many shadows
before it
explodes.
Jun 8, 2012
Jun 8, 2012 at 12:01 AM UTC
My Halloween offering for Oct. 10th
Eeeeeeeeewwwww! Kind of like snot.
Communication between our world and the spirits.
Telltale sign of a ghostly presence.
Occupational hazard as a ghost buster.
Proof positive? Or just the kids toy "Slime"?
Leaves a lasting impression when seen and felt.
Always makes for a great scene in a movie.
Scientifically, it is part of a cell.
Mysterious!
Oct 9, 2010
Oct 9, 2010 at 4:35 PM UTC
I'm caught in the meandering confines of the webs that hold all my words
like the tortures. that sinew creates
like the voices that spiders death makes
like a discrete collected. symposium in the Greek corridor
beyond everything. these thoughts. are a zoo of confines
every species is a destruction
we all slowly **** the once perfect thought of ourselves
because every single time we listen to another's thoughts
we give up our own ectoplasm
we make a country of ghost
a set. defined layer, film of loss
then
we try and share it.
on top of that
on top of decadence
on top of world skyscrapers that create new heights, new shoulders of the sky that our humanist shall strive towards
i just want my ghost to mean something
i want my light to overshade the shadow
i want there to be a supernova in my eyes
i want for you to take that power. make a reactor.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 1:02 AM UTC
(I wrote you most days from the rainforest floor)
This is where the
moss was
and they were too
I am out of touch and missing all at once unable to get back to the surface
swimming next to a blue flame
glowing ectoplasm glitters
the tour guide is a woman’s voice under the stars and everything concave is inside out far away from what it once was,
uninverted
happy is the uncertain I looked for you in the chrysalis and you
were still wearing
your socks
when you disappeared
I found them in my drawer three days later tucked themselves in still covered in glitter from the caves
I had so many questions when I reached out my hands
stuck to the walls and swallowed my palm
silicone and retreating light
it wanted me to stay in a time I could only help but leave
the artists gold leafed my throat like it was delicate and
ready to go on stage wearing shoe covers walking and talking gently avoiding swimming their arms the foxgloves developed negatives backwards in gelatine over water
pasted down every darkness bright green lime green stinging immediately
nauseous turning to stone under the gaze of the walls.
Apr 30, 2024
Apr 30, 2024 at 7:08 AM UTC
In a way, you, my dear friends, are in the company of a ghost.
Why is this, you ask? Or perhaps you don’t ask,
perhaps you don’t care at all. If you’re expecting dripping ghostly green ectoplasm
or a white bed sheet with holes cut out for the eyes,
then you, my dear friends, have the wrong expectations. You are wrong, yet
are still in the company of a ghost. A ghost
holds on long after his time, longing for more time here with his dear friends to feel loving arms
around his neck, arms that are slipping, arms that shouldn’t let go, mustn’t let go, arms that continue
slipping, those arms are gliding off too quickly, too soon, those arms.
Those arms are gone.
Those arms are no longer holding
our dear friend. He cannot let go
because those once loving arms
have let me go.
This is why you, my dear friends,
are in the company of a ghost.
Nov 24, 2011
Nov 24, 2011 at 6:21 PM UTC
I'm passing hours, pondering ectoplasm,
Ethereal ghosts float over time's dark chasms,
I'm musing on ectoplasm, so pensive,
Would a shade of Jesus be God's missive?
Glimmer of wraiths, sight unseen,
Are they the long gone racing team?
Ectoplasm, I wonder at spirits and souls,
Angels appear in dreams, faces of old,
This side of midnight, not too far away,
Loved ones guiding us every day,
Life changing old souls, in a collective,
Maybe a shade of Jesus would be a missive,
I'm pondering ectoplasm, bemused and pensive.
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 5:37 AM UTC
VISITATION
Brian walked
through the wall.
Paused, smiled:
halfways in - halfways out.
"Jaysus..!" he said.
"That always feckin' happens!"
He pulled the rest of him
through to this room
leaving a glowing
trail of ectoplasm.
"It makes me feel
like a ****** snail!"
"Sorry about the ghostly slime
it's hard to get used to
being dead
if ya see what I mean!"
I couldn't have of course
so I just nodded.
"And this ghost stuff
is really the pits.
Here I am and yet
here I am not."
He gave me a playful
punch on the shoulder
and went right through me
misjudging his new existence.
"Now, listen bud...all this crying
is getting on me nerves.
It's gotta stop.
You've got a life
to live...now...live it!"
And then like e clichéd
cockerel crowing at the dawn
he faded into the curtains.
"Jaysus...these curtains
are truly terrible
they'll have to go!"
"Well. . ?"
said the sunlight
"...will we get on
with it?"
The day waited impatiently
hopping from one minute to the next.
"Yes. . ." I said
"Yes."
Oct 5, 2018
Oct 5, 2018 at 1:36 PM UTC
Thanks for calling me a friend,
Thanks for wanting to see me around and hear my thoughts,
I'm sorry I forgot to mention how pretty blue your eyes are,
or were at least.
You're a ghost of what I always wanted and I let you slip through,
Now I'm just covered in the remains of your ectoplasm,
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 11:12 AM UTC
Bleed.
The ghosts they scream bleed.
****** massacre in my head
Asking God "please! Can I be dead?"
All I see is red
God **** these ghosts
They haunt me endlessly
Dousing me in ectoplasm
Yearning for nothing more than ******
Why?
I am nothing.
Why torture me?
Just end it all and gut me
Oozing out in pristine green
Lean mean dope fiend
The needle gleams
Ghastly past
Creepy present
**** the future
Jul 30, 2015
Jul 30, 2015 at 6:12 AM UTC
Can you hear my voice urge vacantly
Begging to crawl out
Even though it knows that when it touches oxygen
It dies
And rests upon my warm wet lips
Sep 28, 2017
Sep 28, 2017 at 12:57 AM UTC
It’s like suddenly being sieged
by black water holding you down,
with one fist around your chest
and another shackling your rest.
So when you finally give in to suffocation.
Smothering screams of molestation.
Crows pecking your burning mind
while you crouch by the window,
waiting for dawn to rush in
and save the day.
Your door is bolted with iron locks
shutting out persistent, saintly knocks.
But your window on the seventh floor
knows the allure of breaking apart.
Letting you try unseelie wings:
freedom without heartstrings.
So why does that sobbing ghost,
pleading by your locked door,
still hold enough ectoplasm
to keep your body safe
but your mind insane?
Feb 14, 2020
Feb 14, 2020 at 3:05 AM UTC
Too many ghosts
Who’ve drank from the Grail,
Have commented on its peculiar shape:
A vital substance in a Klein bottle
Has nourished the metaphysical,
And gave it suppleness
Like skin, but without nerve-endings—
Like plastic
These mobisian volatilities have taken
All vertices outward, prisons of prisms
Are not special to the spirit inside
But the monstrosity appearing
Astride the Rio Grande:
Eyes and ears posted
All along the prism’s edge
Contain so many lives yet to be lost,
The arms of the ghost
Surround the outside
With rusted-over armor to keep the Fates
Locked away indefinitely
Beating, starving, and ******
All lives coming to the edge of the undead.
There, from across the impossible barrier,
One can see the astral projection
Of death-animate within—
What is a prison outside is, by definition,
A prison inside
Guarded by a lily-white panopticon
And its pale imitations
Kept warm and safe in the rebel’s undead embrace.
When the transformation happened
Is anyone’s guess, but by the love
Of a dispassionate hatred,
A distant, fever-dream voice
From a white house upon a hill,
A clarion made of echoes,
The prisoners latch to one another
And form the body of a great scavenger—
By the vulture’s keen eye for death,
It picks off those who cannot stand
On their own two feet,
Those poor, huddled masses,
In one hand holding the AR-15,
The other, a bushel of nooses.
The vulture screams!
Ride, ride you wraiths!
To the border, ride!
The invasion of pained flesh
Shall never break the adamant heads
Of the patriot’s ghost, hungering
For the blood of a place
Victimed by the very body
It sought to bury,
As the body labors,
Eats nothing but its pride,
Drinks nothing but the slop
From piss-and-vinegar soaked
Rags of American flags strewn,
Torn asunder, ringing them out
To, one day, make Molotov cocktails
So hot, their blaze could boil ectoplasm and
Finally rattle staid hearts
Thousands of miles from the suffering,
A distance turned artist, apathy and hatred
Become this new face of humankind.
Sep 29, 2019
Sep 29, 2019 at 12:33 PM UTC