by Ray Weaver

Learn to spit upon the floor
like the cheapest common whore;
There are no castles any more;
The Huns, the huns, are at the door.

Barbarians now take their chance,
Guns, as pricks, in baggy pants-
we must all learn to dance
to rhythms of their ignorance.

So burn your grammars on the grate,
grunts we need not conjugate.
We heeded warning bells too late;
a new Dark Age must be man’s fate.



About elrondsilvermaul

I never know what to say about myself. I let what I write try to speak as to who I am. I can only add, here, that I am 72, live in a nursing home, am twenty years a cancer survivor, and identify as a gay male. I intend to use this blog as storage for poems? written over the long years (and still being written). This does not preclude other uses.
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