Flogged Horse Wade German The colonel steps out into palpable green sunshine Wearing a bandolier of baby heads And followed by ancestral ghosts who mostly died violent deaths Laughs about the latest rage in evening gowns He tries to light his cigar but the matches scatter about Becoming scarabs that scuttle on his vest Among brass buttons and medals While in the garden politicians have already gathered for champagne Pistols and blue and pink birthday cake They give speeches and white turds pour from their mouths The lobes of matter fluctuate And the terror of tea time clatters amid the silverware The poltergeist roams in the hallways Bread spills like milk from the brain baskets While outside an enormous black ox refuses to haul the cart A dog bites an old lady And the shapes of the shadows become a cloud of gibbering bats While collectors of amputations set up shop They’re selling off rare pieces in order to cast ballots But the sign keeps falling off the rivets Over the arch in the sinister alley Where the last metaphysician stumbles in the sewer with his pants down And sees the horse being whipped And that’s the final abyss The dark descent to illimitable voids of teeth.
Posted on: Tue, 18 Mar 2014 20:36:23 +0000
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