@ Rogue Affairs
Silent lambs! And be under a sharp knife.
From the nib flows, blood ink, suckled
Like a leech. On the calm surface of ocean,
Dig deep and the deeper the net
Bigger the catch. Siphoned into the spacious,
Belly of the vessel, hungry for ages.
You hold, in the cover of your rims, a mask
Of restricted air, claustrophobic.
Making well a plaster model for a mediocre,
Low cut suit with grey patches of whimsy.
Rogue affairs, hidden below names,
And filling the lap of your foe, with flowers,
Lest your goodness be not questioned.
Defeating yourself, hopping every country,
Boot-legging, flying in the day, falling at night.
To make a point, seek a victim, or defile
To good nature, antithetical your meek profile,
You have humbled, the holder of the flag,
You have trampled the traditions of seagull’s flight.
The Question, Episode 3, Ink-Job @rogue two
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(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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