Blitzkrieg Now

 

rollie-fingers

 

They will hang

a name on him

 

They tread over corpses

of his kin

 

Tarring and feathering

his homeland

 

Keeping bugs

in jars

on bedside tables

He’s kicking it

for Christ

Kicking for Christ

 

Something that should

have been beaten

out of him

long ago

 

Too many druggy days

treating them like whores

Putting x’s through numbers

Calendar pages falling to floor

 

Following footsteps

And he won’t learn

a damn thing

where others have walked

 

As he twists

his Rollie Fingers

moustache

He is a gorgeous man

but he makes decisions

like an ugly boy

 

He put his time in

On factory floor

He swept

white trash away

 

He inserts his tongue

and tastes

my brain

Puts stones in my pockets

and we go down

together

 

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