deepundergroundpoetry.com

Prayers Hurt the Ears of Our Puppeteers

Press me - pared by pitch lines
burning beneath searing, slicing ink
amendment headings, heedless shredding
needless schemes sync and stink

Cheeks sop up spit, shouted from the silenced
voices stifled
spoken woken rifles shriek
Abject, abject...only lowly objects
we drink our bile in the streets

-

Evil - updrafts, born in buzzards wings
The carrion, they ferry
cold cartels of skins;
clipping our colors before they clash

Bodies stowed for savage shows
minions made of molting pinions
piercing us with hollow pinions;
mind your ties to those marionettes
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