The Butcher's Show

he called it
raw, or something rare.
i called it overkill.

strike, like lightning-tips
murder and naivety,
tight-lipped, bloody entertainment
for you
and for your hands.

it will smell,
and stain your stripes,
drip

like falling bullets
which melt
long
before it kills.

you called it routine,
i called it tight-lipped, bloody,
entertainment.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2009

Poem

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Joe Avatar
May 11, 2009 at 6:32 AM
This is bloody excellent poetry. I am not taken much with lower-0case writting but I think that you have re-enforced the power of the words by using such a device. Whilst the overall impact of the poem is militant, it maintains a beautiful aesthetic that lends itself to the writings of dome of the better poets from the second Harlem school. Brilliant poem my friend!
Shango Avatar
May 9, 2009 at 5:12 PM
A militant advocate for the silent, I see ... only applause for power and write. Love
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