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A terrorist on the roof

December 10, 2016

 Photo credit:  UNICEF - Displaced children in Aleppo

 

On this day in nineteen forty eight, the United Nations adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, under the Chairmanship of Eleanor Roosevelt (one of my heroes).

 

There is no way to dress it.  To make it palatable.  To tie a deep and meaningful bow around it.  Its been a shitty year.

Yes, absolutely.  It has been personally transformative.  I’ve seen the world as it is.  My go to reality has been demolished.

 

But.

 

The most ugly and disturbing thing about twenty sixteen is the non-action of the elected leaders to do anything about the Second Holocaust.  Feeding the public carefully selected and sanitised morsels of Death, Racism, Violence against Women and Homelessness.  

 

 

Using human suffering as an opportunity for more committee meetings and Danish pastries.

 

 

 

***

 

A terrorist on the roof

 

For the children of the Second Holocaust.

 

a Defender’s fantasy unfolding, a copacetic

chaos cascades onto the streets,

calling His citizens to attention-

of blue blood blocking paths, and

strangers waking to your existence.

Sirens, politicians and psychologists

scramble to the spotlight, to

catechize the world of its ignorance.

Rabbis, Imams and Priests unite

in the name of some God you have never met.

 

Sperm Donor hammered it into you,

the space you wasted, contorting you shrunk and

for her, you sucked cock before school,

to give her a grain of heaven on Mother’s Day.  She is

dead now, no room left for life on her arm.

Clean two years but still you hold a sack of hell,

crawling to the Others constructed reality, and

the Servant states shelters are not homes

and again you are invisible- returning to the streets

taking their money, wiping the Cum of Privilege from your mouth, and

at the counter the Servant of the New Life says

you still haven’t proved you’re one of us yet.

 

Screens show the terrorist on the roof, and

I wanted to ask how it felt tipping the throat of power, and if

the ejector rod released that yesterday for you.

Authority said it was a tragedy, that

self-radicalisation was the cause of the Innocents dying

and genuflecting before the public, the Defenders

wailed that justice would be exacted, while

the big country boomed and bellowed, strike,

Syria, eighty five dead, a mistake

the globe distracted, with

such a respectful confessional.

 

the chamber spit into your brain, but

the only sounds I could hear -

 

were your tears hitting the concrete.

 

 

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