Sunday, September 03, 2006

Poem: Torches & Pitchforks

With torches on,
And pitchforks raised,
The peasant horde

Marches ungoverned
Searching for real
And imaginary monsters.



The posse is a mindless beast
And the agglomerated mob
Brims with blood-lust

And madness. The whole
Is far less than the sum
Of its parts:

Each new body adds mass
And each fresh outrage
Diminishes the hive's brain.

One if by land; two if by sea.
They're coming for you.
They're coming for me.
---o0o---

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