A vile race of tenacious persons

self-made they inflate themselves on their own

from head to foot and by their clothes and  jaws

there are others like a flower who cast

exhalations of humanity’s love.

As there are turtle doves and wild beasts

in the forest, plants that are infested

and sterling carnations in a garden

some have been fed off the soul of mankind

and perfuming their gluttonous teeth

as does the cold iron in the body

of a virgin kill while its heated.

 

The tyrants are seated at a banquet

and when their blood-stained hands delve in the meal

beaming a light, a martyr re-surges ,

large flowers, as a sudden cross appears,

escape, and reddened mouths are aghast

at the sight of their blackened entrails,

the tyrants, the ones who love themselves most

who in the face of proper reasoning

are an affront to the face of honor,

and the strip of light grown under the yoke

compares to the sun as it casts hot coals

that abound from its breast:

the tyrants do not carry decorous

humanity in sane breasts:  they are best,

or second-best at life, with ruined joys,

watched-over wealth and reactionary

“no” to the concierto universal.

 

Dance, food, music, and harems, but never

approbation of honorable persons

if by chance it could happen without blood

“Get out of the way…hang them hang them

and from the highest noose out on the road

out front in the middle of the village.”

Against humanity’s greatness: traitors

like a worker pounding copper rails,

they divvy up the nation with teeth marks.