Sacrifice Ye Ancestoroid

Run 'round the rotunda brother.

Run 'round the rotunda mother.

I will bash both your heads in,
the both of you,

while you are running around the rotunda,
mother and brother
clouds tell them electrically

the King Makers and the King Killers
lined up all around the rotunda.

You worship on both sides of time,
worshipping, worshipping, worshipping.

Worshipping the whiteness of the light
and the whiteness of stone,
the smell of mineral or concrete,
lemon scented candles,
white cotton sheets.

The Aztecs were tipped sideways,
off the sun like bugs.

I killed them in the Spring,
it's like Summertime here.
My telegram to the county commissioner
standing right now by the church
said:

"O, my brother and mother are dead.
I have killed them
in Spring it's like Summertime
ten o'clock yesterday morning,
they were the walking dead,
the bait fisters . . . the bait fisters!

I'm sorry but I can't fix this
with their knees twisted backwards and broken in time,
the bloody time they broke with their damn bait fisting
still walking."

Copyright © 2004 by E.B. Buckett.