Epigram

He wishes we’d live so quietly, so cowed,
our words would melt to silence in our awe.
But as this ass wrapped in a lion’s skin
brays hatred from his jowls, confusion
comes as we all tweet at once.

Like an ape amused by his own shit
he flings his mad words from his pulpit
spatters the crowds with stink and hate
and the thin-necked half-men celebrate
his coming rain of gold.

His wriggling wormy fingers stab the air
as leaden words thunk from his lips
this penthouse roach who dyes his pelt
the tarnished orange of an old commode,
and wishes he were Stalin, but falls short.

(with thanks to Mandelstam)

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