Untrusting violence wreaks the streets,
Slack with the urge to kill gangs go berserk
The madwoman in the attic
sings Ophelia-like songs
speaks of
broken promises, shattered bangles and forlorn loves
Desire preys on a timorous maiden
like hungry wolves scavenging across the prairies
Her waddling curves invoke unbidden lust
in tawny, sooty-headed boys
whose rusted rifles and glinting eyes carry revolutionary sparks,
Blood, bassoon and bereaving
shatter night’s tranquility
Bullets, bandanas and bugle-horns announce descending darkness,
revolution and violence take over the streets
outshine the madwoman’s loud laments and the maiden’s feeble cries.
No comments:
Post a Comment