Poem: George On a Quarter

 

George On a Quarter

 

a wine rack of poetry, if splashed on your face,

would trickle off silent lips, voided eyes,

the sleeping brow of the kafkaesque.

 

beautiful burgundy tears--

of words, of passion, of persistent hope--

yet they fail to dent your silver mettle,

already too deeply incused,

dishonest and cruel,

from the links to chains of slaves

cursed to mine deep underground.

 

those beautiful burgundy tears,

i confess they are mine.

i only want to understand:

why do we worship saintly busts

honed on a die of sins?

 

why such praise for decapitated coins

hoarded and guarded

in self-righteous stacks of murder?

 

i do not want you. 

i touch you and you drink my warmth.

down into your cold wafer.

your inedible eucharist.

 

i tossed you off a peer once,

as if to expel a vampire or a tick,

and 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.