Poem: George On a Quarter

 

George On a Quarter

 

a wine rack of poetry, 

if splashed on your coin-borne face,

would trickle off silent lips, voided eyes,

the sleepwalking numb of the kafkaesque.

 

beautiful burgundy tears

of passions and persistent hopes,

such poems of loves and lovers

a true heart would intoxicate;

yet they fail to dent your silver mettle

so deeply incused, dishonest and cruel,

over links of chains to slaves

cursed to mine deep underground

or work your plantation.

 

why do we worship your saintly bust,

honed as it was on a die of sins?

 why such praise 

for a decapitated history,

hoarded and guarded

in self-righteous stacks of silver?

 

i touch you and you drink my warmth.

you curse me with your cold wafer.

your inedible eucharist.

 

i tossed you off a peer once,

as if to expel a vampire,

and i watched as your winks scrawled to fade,

leaving in their wake no prose.

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11/18  changes to decapitation sentence

10/29  "expel" replaces "repel"

10/7  many changes after the poem went up, a couple hours later.  Weird f**king poem about the bust of George Washington, which appears on the US twenty-five cent piece.