Thursday, 21 January 2016

Quarter Fever of the Furious



“The Shadow” by Pablo Picasso (1953)


Who waits for their carriage to cross the roads of narrow minds and dirty mouths
Sit here to ease yourself with a bird’s eye view of her balding head
There's an animal somewhere
In there
It's waiting for the next foul to drop its ball of bullshit
The burden is ours to share
The privilege all yours
The name of the loser goes to the round up of winners
For the next round
The parade waits not for no one
Come closer to hear the coin drop

The kidneys gasp, the jaws drop
With ten-cent coins, fasten the coward’s lips with the absence of sound 
The show is stark and slowly it swallows every ounce of energy
Inside every loyal man
There’s a drop
The racist clings onto my lungs like a leech in blood
Racism is the need to shriek because you are afraid your tranquility will contend submission
Otherwise defeat
Rest well the racist who'll squawk again
I’m ashamed
It’s a shame

It’s a mores to pair people with adjectives
To collect and colonise a free species
From the speakers spill the laughter of nonexistent amusement
People don’t stand up for nothing
If nothing they stand for what at all
Under the skin
Above sea level
Under the flag there’s a shame ripening below matured skin
Walk with stead in no direction in the pacific there’s a dear waiting to cross the road
Who beams with darkness
There's something, someone is stuck in the door