can be so ungainly
lumbering along , this
is red and black. I could swear
it tilts its rough-hewn head up
to regard me, slayer ,or saviour even -for do i
not grant freedom to each
one that comes my way?I certainly
try to. Red-black mottled body
on red-orange fir floor -looking up at me,
as i descend ,kleenex
in hand- down, do wn the cold toilet whirl
to a slow death in septic fluid -broken, they still live,
these ants, broken they still live . Behind me
a dozen of his brothers bastards all, by
one such thousand - slut
of a mother - bastards, behind me
they are making free with my new bought fruίt, they are
seeking out the wine they are
for the hidden cupboard, full of crumbs , where
rings of oil and vinegar , old jars, and forgotten
of cat food rot- and
why should they knot? Bastards.
I'll kill them if i can- but i, alone, a man
stand no chance- below my house there is a city
i would find more terrifying
than these bold soldiers find my floor. Fuckers!
I hope i never fall in there , i hope
while i wage genocide - if they
what i was up to , I
wouldn't wake up, to
morrow or ever again -unseen my
ground-up bones would line the deepest throne -room passage
teeth, such broken things they are, would pave the floor-
the orbits of my eyes
would fill with black -legged forms,
vourers, military takers
of all flesh -we , too
behave like this!
©Peter Greene 2011.
Yes, if they were as militant as us it would be 'The Naked Jungle' all over again!
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