Tuesday, 16 July 2013

Cut this Stone into my Sword

Passages from antiquity
cut into my stone
from Plautus to Macrobius

America is a harlot -
you can always go back to her /
a harlot who revels 
brash & profane

A theological excursion
into the righteousness of death
jazz is a fatuous, drunken slur

Until Monk shows up.
in a second the women will
be letting wail 
gales of woe

Americans clap so easily 
they're as low as dogs
that's not to say there's no dignity
its just Enshrined everywhere 

Then there is the shame they must feel
that they didn't do the whole hog, and 
just go completely feral.
For real, man
flashes of steel
flesh of my flesh, 
Oh poverty, like
the people of old
Ramshackle, fecund
Confeds in the attic,
Trotsky in the shed..
and you were just
'musing around' the met on 
Monday in the Renaissance rooms.

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