When You Want to Rebel But The Communists Say No

Civil War in Cambodia

The underculture is a retired toupee
Complete with withering adhesive.

When a thousand breaths
Submit like beaten dogs

A brutal yelp
Exposes the bald scalps
Of failed insurgents.

Destitute air
Is akin to heaving sobs
Abashed by slaving lungs.

But what phrases
Cuddle the fat
The rib cages tote?

Do they feel at all?

Are a growl.
Opiates croak
Like a caste
Of suffocating frogs.

Somewhere in that infinite echo
Humanity discovered a melody.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s