Its curfew gull it glides
Over urbane waste and
Blank modish diatribes;
Its own shadow on sand
Its disposable hound
It pants at the latest
Permutation of sound
Its teeth drip like the rest.
Its consumed sacred cow
Moos to move you to tears
Songs from the guts, the now
Tasteless offence, arrears.
Its hatred bee it stings
Cry victim, break weakling
Don't understand these things
Gull, hound, cow, bee: such things.
Comments
fatboy74 | February 16, 2011 - 16:15
I like this, works really well. :-)
The Big Bad G | February 16, 2011 - 17:53
Thank you Fatboy - one of my more cynical moments, perhaps, I confess...
jonahs cough | February 21, 2011 - 14:47
quite dark but very vivid and beautiful. nice one.