Politician Birds
On flightless wings
these sightless things soar
amongst the degradation of machines.
Their progeny are sterile,
hatched from yolkless eggs,
with songless beaks.
Their sticky tongues
lick each other inside out
till they're full of feathers -
fat pillows - laying us
in the beds they've made.
Wounds displayed on palms
and feet are made with sauce,
there's no real blood,
and no intent to sacrifice.
these sightless things soar
amongst the degradation of machines.
Their progeny are sterile,
hatched from yolkless eggs,
with songless beaks.
Their sticky tongues
lick each other inside out
till they're full of feathers -
fat pillows - laying us
in the beds they've made.
Wounds displayed on palms
and feet are made with sauce,
there's no real blood,
and no intent to sacrifice.
posted by burning moon at 2:43 PM
4 Comments:
oooo
The sharp barb of the last stanza really lingers after the soft building blocks of S1-3, very nicely done.
Thanks. Politicians ... I don't know how they sleep at night some of them ...
They sleep nestled happy on a bloody great wad of cash *laughs*, money makes the softest of pillows I think
mmm too true!
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