Special sauce in a box,
two all beef patties
stripped from the earth.
I see myself
as a reflection
of the World-at-Large
all at once, Stubble Face
We stare up at the ceiling
wondering if bastard Love is feeling
as sickened as we are.
Raven chanting Indian Summer
Spirit leaves fall to death
into piles of silent screaming
everywhere I step
feeling the crunch of tiny
Auschwitz bones
millions dead, maybe more
© Razee Ink 2009
18 September, 2008 04:05:44 PM
