Come on! Lets go!
Tiptoe the scars of broken men
and women, roll the stones real hard;
Hold your breath when your leg
Is kissed by giggling claymores before
you even settle in to take your mark.
Yes, I got a 10!
After they amputate your decaying
limb it's time to skip into place.
Puddle jumping in blood until
medics intervene with morphine
quills to fill her up with samba's
while Hobbs Scotch kills her brain.
The racing of one's desire overtakes
a game of double dutch conspired
in shaky grips of swinging razorwire.
Cops and robbers is not the same:
I'll be Rodney King under the swings
resisting arrest; when you contest
Que applaus
.... and we'll all sing in sweet regret.
King of the hill, last to the head
of the ash pile is a rotten egg!
As each step leaves black
lungs while the fires rise higher
amongst the bodies black stack;
Listen to them hack the whole
way to the maypole's crimson
back, still glistening in the flames
............. cackling glycerol laugh.
The playground isn't safety proofed;
Razorblades replacing plastic hoops.
We are as seen on Tv screens
with green fatigues and battered
beliefs patterning preteen routines.
There are no monkeys, our arms
bleed from being strung on guerilla bars
and bloody scenes hung from media stars.
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