WET DREAM
Burning tires provide the light
By which I paint the Eyes of War
While soldiers, dead in their comrades’ arms
View our lives from the other side...
And Paintings ... Ha Ha Ha...
What fucking good are They?!
Inspirations unfold
In my ancient brushes
At their mystical violence
And worthless notions
That to trash the image
Robs its power
Hung up like shields
In our darkest hour...
Piled high on the dung-heap
Of reactionary dreams...
They feast like worms
Above the ground
We waited like crows
For the Beast to fall
Reduced to gray mush
In just a matter of days...
Their black hearts hang
By a thread in time
Motionless in the fascist storm
Dreaming wet dreams
Of Civil War!
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