Mortaljive: The Rest is Silence

There is no still point in all the Universe, and that is the rock upon which I stand

Sunday, April 26, 2015

Revenant*


full score of years had wriggled forth
from cloak and and hood and fist
the specter of the chosen men
on down its leg did piss

when you hang the hanger
or whip the cracking master
ladies faint on summer chairs
their faces broken plaster

the hoods no longer needed
as the south girds up its loins
dive into its fountains
for a haul of deadly coins

the ships that brought the black man
still glide upon the seas
but now they are just freighters
with boxcars at full speed

the dead are rotten timber
the skin a rotten trick
dive ye down to plunder
golden coins are yours to nick

sell the slaves at harbor
drive them to the town
sell them, sell them, sell them after
the god of love has drowned

alone, the hooded master
hangs from a quiet tree
the leaves will fall in autumn
no more slaves will come for me

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*Original art by BANKSY

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