~ 50 ~ MacLean J.S. MacLean J.S. MacLean J.S. MacLean J.S. MacLean J.S. MacLean J.S. MacLean J.S. MacLean J.S.
Under a Rock The most arrogant dynasty lies dying amidst old plunder while minions pray for the kings of the hypocrites. The sheathless still die hard, a tally like Stalin’s, but slyer, washed hands wave slowly to the dead. A radiance of redbirds, ironic homophobes and misogynists, roost to purify their beaks. Rapists and slappers of inculcated children are hidden lovingly behind doily dresses, since they have worth, unlike their victims. They deny our evolved nature and when graced with true audience utter only hollow and sorry platitudes.
‚Doily Angel‛ by E.A. Hanninen, 2011
The head regenerates, but the body cannot survive; even the cockroach adapted so as not to follow the dinosaur.
J. S.
MacLean
What are your natures, Fishheads; deviants, defectives, or cowards? What does your wrinkled skin desire?
Read more of J.S.’s poetry and bio on page 31