These last words I will to scar,
Have skin engraved by lashes, the burn of
A lightning tongue
For too long tethered, restrained
by images of a moral and ethical life,
Only to become a dialectic of
Un-opinionated opinion –
Egg-shells on the soles of silent feet.
With these words I would draw,
Draw the image, draw blood as
Dark as the curse of a blackened mage,
Tearing at skin made loose by scathing burns to
Bare the flesh, the trails and ends,
The organs dragged out
Fed to dogs kept bestial
By illusions of these morals, these ethics by which
We are hardened hypocrites made inexcusably implicit.
You would lament ‘the system’
And support the resistance,
Yet wallow in the spoils of its re-incorporation.
If words could draw I would have them draw blood,
Have them harm,
Have them attack with acid
And bombs of nails and broken glass.
Have them sever limbs, make
bodies limp and lifeless, cause
haemorrhages and ventricular convulsions,
I would tar spirits and burn souls.
I would call on fire for suffering.
If I had these last words,
I would whisper. I would not
let them hear
let them speak
let them breath.
If these last words were mine,
I would pray for God.
~ For What We Bred, For What We Bled (1988)