Virtual Vultures

The lamb only learns when it is loved from a distance

When cradled in arms, feeling cranky to calm

-Zyklon B to embalmed-

It forgets that it knows it ever existed in an instant

I don’t know who I am

I don’t where this is

I don’t know who you all are

But I’m beginning get the gist

I believe finite memory is more

And timeless is less

The mundane middle of Monday

Is where Friday finishes with a written test

But it’s a vexing mess that has no respect

Turns up ending with a blood splattered rest

I am my own Ministry of Militia

A bible basher with a bulletproof vest

Putting words together in new found forms

More real than reality itself

Stravinsky’s riot did me proud

M.C.’s bread is dipped in some funky mould

How dare you sow the seeds of the apocalypse!!

That’s the last job on my to-do list

Wasabi’s buck shot peppering, splits open new tins of green paint

Spraying nuance and subtly

Over a canvas of obviousness

Unique, original and never seen before

Are the curse words of the new generation

Picking like a virtual vulture over past digital corpses

So, gimme sum theeng new

Or

Just leave me hangin’

Take a leap of faith with the future of us all

Or just

Bang the final nail into my compos mentis coffin

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