A slice

of screams,

a film

of dreams,

a ream

of rascals

and imps,

my twin-boys

boiling up

my blood

over the boiling

point of

the sun…

the mangled past

screams

to be made

whole,

like buttermilk

when fat

and cream

have been

creamed…

truths morph

into long-forgotten

tales and then

lies and

myths;

we are all

the stuff

of which legends

are made…

unspoken truths

which invariably

form only half

the yarn;

the faint-hearted

must be protected,

and so long

pauses of sighs

and pains

are left between

the scene of

the epic crime

and its remains;

I am

the spawn

of blood-stained

shards of

dreams shattered

long ere

they cohered into

germinal clods

of godly aims

and objectives and

aspirations…

inspire me

to aspire

to end

this nightmare

of our shame…

black flesh

is factory fodder;

white raw-sex

slime mixed

with blood

where the quarry

balked at bestial

rape

at dawn –

savagely

rationalized

barbarism spewed

as pearl

to a morally

withered world…

we are still lost

at sea,

afloat and

hungrily trailed

by whales

and sharks,

this wolf-eat-dog

world in which

we are the dogs,

beaten bloody

till we become

paper-passive

scrawled

sillily

upon

by our stealers –

this woebegone

academic mill

can only make us

poor carbon copies

of our thieves,

carbon is the breath

of death

into whose

cauldron

we have been

dumped…

swim up,

Buster,

let them pay

for our shame

with that last

deadly bite

of eternal

release,

or sink

and be gone

unmourned

like a fool…

1/20/14

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