The Song Of Hell Poem by Nathan Coppedge

The Song Of Hell



Dead End Fruits

Wood-En

Spear-Its

Wasted Women

Bodies Burn

Stink to Heaven

Heaven Falls

Salt in Our Wounds

God Sprinkles Down Some Lemon Juice

Talk to Women

And Talk to Corpsezz

Load the Dung

And Burn the Boxes…

Mutter this in Your Curaed Mother Tongue

The women were pretty…

But God smelled Dung—

A mystery like History…

A big rotten plum.

Monday, January 8, 2018
Topic(s) of this poem: death,fire,songs
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
Feeling neglected by the gods.
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
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