no gods no masters a machine named dennis (Remove filter)
doctorate (3/14/15)
knees shaking,
wet pieces of manilla paper
guts quaking
use the scalpel and the scraper.
honed flesh,
separate piles
flay the waste of our race
measured in miles.
even me; especially me
worth so much less as pounds of flesh
storyless, shapeless leather
put out to pasture in famine weather.
molting, shucking, jumping free
each reduction, reduced
further from the itchy wet skins ...
Saturday 14th March 2015 12:50 pm
Recent Comments
Graham Sherwood on Look Both Ways
3 hours ago
Russell Jacklin on Mob Rule Mentality
5 hours ago
Stephen Gospage on Target
7 hours ago
Jon on Innocents' Deadly Foe
10 hours ago
Graham Sherwood on Good to be back!
10 hours ago
Mike McPeek on A Somewhat Short Poem About Almost Nothing
13 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on Haiku for 2025 [No. 28. Politic-toc-tic-toc-tic toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic-toc-tic]
17 hours ago
Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh on When Genocidal savagery meets the useless outrageous ignorance of closed eyes
18 hours ago
LEON STOLGARD on When Genocidal savagery meets the useless outrageous ignorance of closed eyes
20 hours ago
LEON STOLGARD on Target
20 hours ago