by deviantart

a volume of air begins to strike, hits a body –
like pebbles, like stones,
like rocks or fossils of an ancient man.

softly. slowly.
handcuffs are placed on wrists, like sweet kisses.
then, strongly. swiftly.
a man is dragged out like a prisoner from his own country;
& he lands on his head.

such treachery with an identical feel of the air,
a gentle breeze singing in the ears of one who is not patriotic.
strong winds move his limbs to do the unthinkable,

an appealing hurricane: a few swearwords at the president,
stain the country’s flag with vomit,
hurl something at the “important man’s” statue;

start a crisis, no, a war with your own people.
& let aeolus
drive your feet to the guillotine. there are no last words when the liver is gone.

“at the count of three
hold your breath.”