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The old man fiddles the flag
With sandpapered fingertips, he caresses

With a devilish smile
The blood drops gather
The open mouth
The corner of the lips
And down the chin

He takes a sated bite
The flesh coagulates
And decorates
This flag of crimson and white.

The audience watches him
Not brooding in a dour lair
But on a stage with gaudy flair
Carnival Carnage

He tries to defy and deny
He wears neither a mask
Nor a costume of homage
Naked

Flaccid penis twitching
Escalating
His sharpening obelisk
Rips into a deep crevasse
And blood pours out of the pores of his Sabine woman

He bites at her breast
Her milk and blood converge in a river on his fangs
He swallows deeply and thoroughly
Rusted, deserted, hated she is.

The lair, her deep crevasse, now barren
His pointed, white, withering member crumbles,
A child is born, nourished off the poison
That drips from the turncoat’s cock
Made from mother’s milk and the people’s blood

Child ruthless, motherless, homeless
Like a virus he creeps and crawls
Virginal face, big blue eyes

Deep winter comes with flaring winds
Screaming the cries of a thousand bloody suicides