With the white chill gone
And all morning dreams not worth much,
After a long day’s walk
Time comes round for the vulgar robbers:
These brutes take to the streets
Until every person
Brown, white or dark,
Swerves to their slough.
Stuck by each purposeful day
These made for violence thieves
Seasoned faced:
Marked, pitted, scared
Who brand a blank mock?
Stock, the most uncorrupted eyes
Knowing crime pays when the laws
Are weak, fastened with layers of
Great greed, and stone spit!
And the layers of corrupting fixed like a vortex:
All snake charmers, moon-eyed, mouth-pied.
All of it, together,
Riveting laws that have no barb-wire
No floor, just a wave of flickering tongues…
Not much can be done!
#4766/7-15-2015
