Louis le Brocquy - Lorca
may butterflies rise from yr grave every year..
by Rob Plath
a soldier pumped
two bullets
into yr buttocks
for being a queer
two bullets
into yr buttocks
for being a queer
then another
into the branches
of yr lung
for being
a poet
into the branches
of yr lung
for being
a poet
another word
for dirty communist
to them
for dirty communist
to them
you were their worst enemy
w/unplugged asshole
& wide open singing
lung bags
w/unplugged asshole
& wide open singing
lung bags
i imagine yr
assassin bragging
about it afterwards
to his comrades
assassin bragging
about it afterwards
to his comrades
then later that night
giving his wife a good
hetero fascist fuck
giving his wife a good
hetero fascist fuck
his dick standing like
a middle finger
to commie faggot poets
a middle finger
to commie faggot poets
his torso full of
fearful gears
moving w/precision
over her body
fearful gears
moving w/precision
over her body
his clenched homophobic
cheeks thrusting
like a pair of iron fists
bloodless knuckles
cheeks thrusting
like a pair of iron fists
bloodless knuckles
giving it to her once
for himself
& once for the gang
for himself
& once for the gang
the regime
Wonderful.
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