Once,
when democracy loomed,
like a worm,
the leaders all squelched their beer,
and swilled down the sexual potency
of their neighboring kingdoms,
by borrowing their women,
and their protestantism,
Eating the Lutheran Mud-pie,
the maledicition,
the meritorious celebration of 95 theses,
and then the libertines rang the bell,
and guillotines played,
across the countryside and the cities,
like an evil symphonia francais,
a francophonic nightmare,
an illusion that filled the hollows with
the fog of an unfought war,
as the bodies piled high,
and the souls went to nothing,
the pnemonic ganglia strangling them,
as they lean against the pig wattle walls,
and the man with the silken trousers passes them by,
asking if they can spare a farthing for the churches coughing coffers,
nothing escapes the lips of these,
the poor,
the demented,
as the man sat in the tower,
gazing at the stars,
and dead cattle were loaded onto catapults,
and flung at the enemy,
to spread the disease,
and yet democracy loomed on the horizon. |
Submission Name: The Leviathan and the Magna Carta
