this is the stuff that kills kings
and wicked empires
black soot soaked wet through
with the blood for transmission
and splattered wildly and
willfully
on a linen white
parchment
the horrific
marrow
of the unsettled underbelly
of the masses
the oozing desire of
the heart and soul
of many
raging together
at the inept
insanity
like a wild sea
tossing an entire armada
against the hard and
jagged rocks
of history
you will not
come out
of this
alive
you have held the
carrot before us
for far too long
and there are
knives
and pipes
in our basements
and you are all alone
in your
great room
at your base station
of your volleys of
law
and small print
here piggy piggy
we are the
sword that
carves bacon
from the royal
and cooks it on the hearth
of righteous indignation
this is
our nation
and you are
merely
a speed-bump
to the progress
we possess
the sea
and the armada
and you, the bacon
laying in the sun
against the hot stones
sizzling
together
the wreckage
of histories finely crushed bones
this is the stuff that kills kings
so watch
as the typeface
marches down
see you at the battle
the front line
where cannons shake out and rattle
and you will shudder when you hear
the monstrous bullhorn
that rings out the bells of your
wildest fears
draw your rapiers
and get me some bacon
i am
the ribcage of
the masses
the hungry
the sea
and the reapers
we’re coming
we’re coming
we’re marching
tonight
and already
we’ve won
the fight
when this bloody ink
screams out
with
such
strength
and
such
might…
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