We, The People Poem by Goddo Faggotte

There are no tigers in the zoo.
Bored children demand “real vicious beasts, ”
having tired of genocide, live beheadings
and the beating up of migrants.
Sequence and resurrect the down-trodden,
a man-eater camouflaged as a moth-eaten rug,
we must have a live tiger behind bars again.

The confessional is abandoned,
the crimson curtain torn.
Quick, rent a priest for absolution
no matter his persuasion,
or the size of his resurrerection.
The faithful must hear the honeyed voice
from beyond the lattice:
“My child, how long has it been? ”

Recrucify the risen christ
humanity begs salvation,
or if the olde one isn’t around,
for whatever reason can’t be found,
thorne-crown and purple-robe a new one
and we’ll crucify him instead.

We are The People
so full of knowledge,
inhaling nothingness,
exhaling death,
but still we continue,
around and on we go.
Wir sind das Volk.