Poem: “They’re Rolling Out The Cannons”

They’re rolling out the cannons
across the cold corrupted ground.
My dreams are like twigs
beneath their heavy hungry wheels.
Dogs bark, the moon bleeds,
wolves eat their young.
The sky is swallowing the sun.
I wait against a crumbling wall
like so many lovers before me,
caught in the crush
of my own crazy heart.
I’m a naked man
on a slow empty train.
I am the King of Shanty Town,
the Hero of the Homeless,
a lover without a bed,
a face without lips,
lips without a kiss…

They’re rolling out the cannons
under a black and blistered sky.
My songs are like stones
scattered across the burning turf.
Hogs squeal, the stars scream,
loons, lizards laugh.
Snakes and snails sneak up behind me.
I lean upon a barren tree
like so many beggars before me,
tin cup in hand,
pockets full of dead birds.
I’m the Dog Face Boy
in the Circus Parade,
the Prince of the Brokenhearted,
Lord of the Lost and Lonely,
a writer without a pen,
a page without words,
words without a sound…

They’re rolling out the cannons
over the dreary desert dunes.
My thoughts are like thorns
inside my morbid muddled mind.
Worms weep, the Earth wails,
whores wash their cunts.
Christ is a schizophrenic bum.
I crawl beneath a cloud of death
like so many soldiers before me,
my gun is God,
and The Truth is a trick.
I’m the Ace of Clubs
in a marked deck of cards,
the Colonel of Calamity,
the Caged Clown of Consciousness,
a preacher without a prayer,
a man without hope,
hope without a dream…

They’re rolling out the cannons
below a wounded weeping wind.
Its tears ancient bones
on the bottom of the Dead Sea.
Waves flame, fish explode,
soul suicide.
Mary raped on God’s Battlefield.
Moses stoned and drug through the streets,
Mohammed, Jesus, rot in their tombs,
Paradise warped,
Heaven a haunted house.
The Hypnotized rule,
the Sleepwalkers march,
they fight and die for spit and dust,
the Church of Advertising,
the Cost of Doing Business,
the Flags of Misery,
Patriotic Pus…

They’re rolling out the cannons
atop the trains and planes and ships.
The Heart is a fool
with the whims of a gambler’s lust.
For God, for Country,
Pride and Power,
The United States of Business,
The Politics of Poverty.
Unknown Soldiers protest from their graves,
Fear and Famine
now traded on Wall Street.
Strangers at the door,
the Other at the gate,
a child’s tiny corpse washes ashore,
You Tube Decapitations,
Drone Collateral Damage,
Martyrdom Murder,
Modern Agony…

They’re rolling out the cannons
around the Halls of Graft and Fraud.
Their breath stings my eyes,
their voice offends my aching ears.
Skies quake, oceans choke,
Hell reigns on high.
Evil walks the Yellow Brick Road.
Apocalyptic Interest Rates.
Banks investing in Graveyard Acreage.
Crooked Lawyers,
Corrupted Accountants,
Real-estate Swindlers,
The Great Stranglehold,
Greed’s Infectious Insanity,
Evangelical Profits,
Industrial Hopelessness,
Blood Stained Stocks and Bonds,
The Dollar Supreme…

They’re rolling out the cannons
above the Towers of Rust and Rage.
My prayers are like rats,
swimming in the piss of Martyrs.
Goats gawk, camels sob,
bugs eat the dead.
The War among the Terrorists,
plays day and night on my T.V.
The Relics of Civilization,
bulldozed and bombed.
The Story of Mankind
blown to smithereens,
Humanity be damned.
The Rapture of Capital Crimes,
Cathedrals of Fossil Fuel,
End Times of Righteous Revenge,
Universal Waste,
Utopian Pain…


© Billy Batson, Saber-Tooth Poems.

They're Rolling Out The Cannons