RED/WHITE

on the top of the ziggurat the t.v. flickers
on it's screen the staged execution of the last innocent,
a liar in dumb clothing-
a naked wolf sheered for all to see-
watch them pull the canines from his grin
and transplant them into their own mouths
for the entertainment of the sick,
the sick stranded in their emphysemic beds drowning on the psychedelic bubbles of yore.

trapped on the path between the bed
and the bathroom
their feet grown through with their own nails,
the shepard has failed to clip the thorny crowns
of his bucks-

the stairs of the ziggurat are dry,
glowing in guardian moon's light and the
radiation of the t.v. at the top
from which radiation flows
feeding the plants at the base
where the robed ones crawl
coughing up the heirs they once threw,
feet caught in thorns tipped in poison-
poisonous, poisonous medecine.

Dracula's passion has been subdued by latex,
the morning brings them tears,
but the Gods are not impressed with tears.

- Jason Quiggle