The wings of the locusts
sound eerily like rubber on the road
and the fields they consume
are black gold
Armored horses for battle
smiling grating teeth
dressed up like women
shiny sparkling vests
Abandon
harm nothing green
and weeds grow back
quicker than man made chemicals
with triple letters making simpler
doctorates applaude
afflicted and noble
no hemlock
no tree
no kryptonite
Only nusery rhymes
in stead of a really thick book
with really thin pages:
I am the Butcher
I am the Baker
I am the Candlestick Maker.
crucifix breaker
flown away tempter
keeper of keys
look at the smoke stacks
reving engines in the streets
howling abyss souls tortured over and under pass
slaves crys revealed
hollow terror in empty cargo
heart of man machine
smile on the cusp of something
Wonderful.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
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