Cancer
The achitricline in drunken stupor again
went for a stroll
along the high road
with crimson lopsided cap
arms like oars
two backstrokes one forward
a cigarette on his ear
yet, if he broke open the taps and
spilled wine in the cellar
beware oh thrice beware
the king will come with an edit
(dotard and disfigured as he is)
the guillotines will be put up
and all who go to the agora
headless they’ll turn like goats.
People run to hide
in houses and in trapdoors and
let the one with two sons mourn
Libros Libertad 