Uprising in the body politic

Life the itch. My matter says
all the other matter is after it.
The factory workers are on strike,
demanding beer and better wages.
They’ll stop their mitosis and install
a dictatorship, a maudlin creep
who goes around naked wagging his tail
in front. Whip poor will, they chant,
whip poor will or by God we will
turn black. Fuzz and curve disappears
to reappear in odder places, gaunt
places that reek of Marx aging sadly.


~ by Jeremy on May 29, 2012.

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