Poetry / Your Turn

You turn your sex to hate,
hand on her throat until she exhales.
You turn respect
into fear and slavery,
simple men to martyrs for a bloodspring to reincarnate us.

I’ve taken this dirt and made this rib.

I saw juggernaut wheels,
crushed ice in your diamond-cut glass,
thousands,
hundreds,
one expressionless face
turned skywards in the mud.

I saw imprints of symbolic creed,
carved stone that i picked up fossilized;
Relics of Empire
washed-in,
de-sexed,
shored-up,
successive generations
of political commerce and self devestation;
split second fixes for hungry electors.

It’s not black anymore,
not crawling in our direction.
We took what we needed
from these pieces
and built it together,
did it better,
finished wars much faster,
solarised-picture-propaganda.

Remotely die.
Remotely kill.
The land absorbs
and is thirsty still,
(retoxicated),
evil lubricated spinning a planet to freefall;
tail wrapped round,

pulling back as we lurch harder.

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