Pestilence and its Victims


Auschwitz is now empty,                                            

A mob to the colon’s beat,

Natives with their tongues cut out,
Slog to the marketplace.

Toast to victories-
Not theirs, at least for now.
But veins shoot
Negating themselves of the superior monkey

A human chain
Accosted by muzzles,
The crowd glows–

Pierced skin,
Melted marrow,
Blood to Oil,

A child with broken cheeks,
For Summer to sigh.

Knitted, repressed
Dancing around the fire at night,
Parades line for servings of white phosphorous in open sight.


Cavernous walls
Ring of howls:
“Liberty, Égalité, Fraternity”

The streets,
Ejected of the plague,
Awash with the fervor
Which talks of Man incessantly,
While massacring him everywhere he is met. 

Cafes burn bright,
Dinner table chatter:
“Human shields, terrorists, civilization.”

Radio plays: Young men shipped off as fodder/15 percent sale on imported underwear.

At your door, the jingle rides
With a salesman’s smile
No more silent seas,
No more tuneless tides.

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