Fanged
Sunrise - sunset
wedged in between
dank city of bright tents
needles and feces
hate blooming openly
is this the model
we're to curtsy and envy.
Rosaries tossed to the trash
down is up -up becomes down
goodness is too often bashed-
darkness is yellowing the crown.
In the foothills of civil war
is where two armies prep
the reds and the blues
primed to play endless taps.
In the hornets' nest
on the eve of the battle
God hangs up the harp
Satan shakes its rattle.
It'll be bloody, it'll be violent
babies will be bitten and die
by the fanged boots of the asp
and selfish tyrants.
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