Sunday, September 17, 2017
It will all wash away
But we don't believe any more
Cause we've got our recruits
And our green mohair suits
So please show your I.D. At the door."--"Sin City" by Chris Hillman and Gram Parsons
Power only lasts a minute,
like lion piss on the trunk of a tree
keen on the next rain.
Girl, you're somebody's Venus,
but not everyone's;
while you give some fool your smile and make another one wait hope and suffer,
here I am, up from a trap-door Hell, denying you mine.
Zebra have nightmares of being chased,
when they dare sleep at all.
All are destroyers to the ant, even a bumbling child.
See the sun, the same one that burns
the cat, the commander,
the egg shell CEO and that cunt on the corner,
rising above them all.
Feel your own roar shaking the earth itself.
Dig it, but remember,
the legions with their whips and cages and clocks
have a circus to make you the foil of
in a Rome you've not imagined--more real than this desert you terrify today.
for the mini-challenge at Real Toads: "Juice."