Don't burn the flag. Wash it!
This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO
O! This still night jostles the dripping centerBringing closer our wedding of dark breathStrapped to the chest in an intelligent designAnd stirring the cackled graves of the suffering;Thousands of them slain in the time it takesA tall building to implode in a torrent of fleshOr in the span of dreaming up a new God.O! The still night quickens our oozing coreRending nearer our pitching dream.On its back rides a chattering ugly thingMade of our thoughts and our hunger.It’s come to anoint our feet with moist lipsAnd place a wreath `round our neckAnd call us savior, liberator and murderer.(Like I said, it’s a chattering ugly thing…)Copyright © 2006 mrp / thepoetryman