By Mike O’Connell
they own a hatred so deep
that whatever empathy
they ever had has been
washed away steam cleaned
leaving a husk of a supreme
being juxtaposition of
faith and folly a holy cover
of an empty book hoods
whisked away like stringless
kites burning crosses in an
alternate dimension mostly
hollow contained by animosity
leaking venom from mouths
afraid of change denying
inevitability driving trucks
like dragons hunting sheep
obsolete flags flapping
slip streaming ignorance
saluted by the ignorant
raging with bizarre vocabularies
only translatable in languages
rejected proven evil but loathe
to pass away like nurtured
weeds in the garden of humanity
i see them but they make no sound
like fart noises in a symphony


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