march your piggy  that was once a lamb,
into the land for the 30 breadcrumbs of judas,
march him in, and america and israel too,
march him in, the banker's  gold gilded flint,
march him in, and exile him from
europe that i might reclaim it!
march him in! march him shoulder
to shoulder left right left right!
i'll take pity over him like
pilate washing his hands: freed.
but i'm sure you'll make a crucible of
silver with his name, which i wouldn't,
i'm sure your child would reap
positive economic consequence
from his death, which i wouldn't,
and i would have my offspring slaughtered
in kinship to his death on the crucifix resembled,
as a quest for that thoughtless thing, the heart,
seeking honour.
i'll have you walk the pig snorkel of the flattened snout
till the lamb emerges... should circle encircle circle,
i'll watch you guide the last evolved jew
into the depths of the first devolved egyptian
readied to accept the pyramidal necrotemplum:
so you can tell me the football pitch wasn't the modern
coliseum with missed decapitated limbs but for worth
of ordeal kept sword axe and bow in a leathered sphere
kicked and headed in a stadium...
here, 2000 years or olive skin rule over the ivory skinned
ones of the north, take your crucifix worship
and i reveal the blood eagle as the ultimate suffering...
take your olive skin god, export him to the cinnamon skinned
indians... sell him there... i say this to you
may the northern wind warmed erase you into the depths
of your oared gold blackened with greed's revenue of
invoked reverse goad, as ***** lipped sons
as ******* daughters that were stances of forbidding
surahs of the prophet dead.

the best selfie she took?
no lipstick, no mascara,
holding up a well petted head of a dog
(obviously with torso legs and tail... d'uh);
******* to the other
                       stiletto **** for magazines.

we don't live in times
likened to a nearby 1cm off
renaissance painters
with patrons as noble as the popes,
we live in times where
free art flows, free art as free
among starving people,
as free as sea water, as free
as candlesticks among electric
shrapnel sparks, in a time
when no bothersome brine
of full-time takes the telescope
to see more stars that are plentiful
already to eden's sacrifice of nakedness
(sign-of-the-cross missing crucifix blaspheme
all authority);
we live in times where no complete
artist exists, instead artists with
full-time jobs tying them down
to originally stated profession for a
date (lawyer, surgeon, chemist, etc.)
& ****... art has become 2nd grade karaoke
if no worse hara-kiri would-be sway of
a forgotten decapitation - of a disembowel'ed satyr
when a martyr would do a due icon for the
urban and shrinking wheat field arable populace
kneeling;
in st. petersburg i was told to stand up
when listening to a choir,
once in catholic school i yawned during our father
and was held in detention for an hour,
then paddy came along and said: martin luther -
so i said sweden in suede and it became the origin
of quebec: came the rain of applause.

or like two people
unifying *******:
two hands! two hands!
one hand! one hand!
oh look... no hands!
veal common tour iran:
here's an apple,
here's a punch.
it's not fair... she gets a strap-on
*****... and i have no other anomaly
for the **** of the giggly *****;
asks the foetus for twins
in between ****** and september.