The Shoplifter

Hannibal, the general, took you by the roots of your blonde hair

And threw you to the ground where your glasses fell.

Troubled female, your barely legible shoes worn from

Always running in your mind. Now this subjection which

In the instance your pullover lifted it revealed your humility.

Throw one hook and fall prey to the one who manages it all.

The control of medicine. Dying children, starving animals,

Always too far behind in their eyeballs. Always falling where you stand.

When they paraded you in court, angels floated through walls with fire in eyes

To take aim at the assured but silent. As one by one their arrogance slipped away.

Your cross is an ankh. Fiber optic cables buried in the ground, hanging wires

Wind up in pharmacies with pavement laid to accommodate travelers.

Give the source their golden spectator right to shine bright the screens that record.

Bloodied up all to hell you fuckers fell.

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