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A Massacre Carol:

The Tragedy at [insert here]

[16. December 2012]

[15. April 2013] rev. 2

Juan-Paolo Perre

 

Every now and then handfuls die

not the petites morts of indulgent hands –

the world’s oldest profession

but by world-weary murdering ones

who practice the age-old passe-temps:

making a brutal orgasm of flesh

Forcing us to see that even they are made

in some form or another

in one or another god’s image – deconstructing creation

eager – fearless to throw the first stone.

Godliness needs be contained from child’s play.

But how from a seething populace

of reapers? Greedy hands with satchels empty

of germinating seed and nurseries in a high-gloss blue

barren of young ready for sowing.

I’ll have not another special televised report.

No cheerful, gorging, gluttonous newsmen

in need of ipecac nor freelance art directors

grateful for some little work

whose “BREAKING NEWS” chyrons envy 3-D.

I’ll have no drooling witnessery

proving late that reflexes

at the knee are indeed intact.

No yuletide destruction

of sacrificial paraffinic forms –

handheld or melting under flying buttresses,

No surplus offerings for rites of spring

nor collected signatures

to urge career-driven, time-stamped civil servants:

The greatest reapers of all –

made in our own image

of prodigious flaw

and shortcomings lauded in shows of sponsored reality.

 

 

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