Sunday, August 3, 2014

Oh clever cleaver

Saw a strange thing on a parapet
a golden crucifix
strolling with golden collection
plate against a butt...
a man in shorts
a man's video cohort
aiming a plea
of a pathetic sort,

Alms for the poor
no doubt
in dubious clout
the religions are doomed
as they scurry about
the money tree...
 you see
it's about power and money
and keeping the piece
of the pie
for themselves, how pathetic
I think. I know flames of ink
that a person must think.

I'm a woman who flames
at the liars sink
i would be sick
if I didn't know of their stink.

I watch in wonder, of a woman's
dear plight, early in morning and
late into the night. The fires are
embers, we have a fresh start,
the arsonist's boil on his butt
is the flame of my heart.

The sirens will scream, but don't be
alarmed. Like the low moan of a train
whose as soft as a bairn.

To love truly true, you need do know harm.

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