POETRY


Carnival

1
So what, I shook my fist at the throne
Stuck my tongue out at the lords of the land
Who own me, living room and grave
Lined up the saints and shot them down
On my head a paper crown

2
Traipsing in the afterglow
I longed to know what the dead ones know

You want to love another bomb
In the name of hope
And the holy heart

But listen to your waning pulse instead

Some of us will kill from fear
All of us will kill for bread


illustration by Happy Burbeck