Sunday, September 3, 2017

Fascists and Lorca

We don’t read poetry, and only listen
When there’s music, a stormy drumbeat
That slides under the skin and makes us
Want to achieve the historical, be great
Before we end up on that regrettable
Pile of forgotten losses. We don’t like sissies,
Men who brood too much, or think a lot.
Inspiration is a God no consequence

Can corral. Slaps you in the face like a coach
When otherwise you’re not up to the task,
And brings people together with a single aim
And a steady hand, ready to act as one
When you're sited against the wall, smoking
Before the sun’s had a chance to warm us.

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