Camera: have you memorized all your battles?
Lights : how profound do you look in your fights?
Mic : how you sound in the skull cracking deep nights?
anger in a tin-can
obscene Silicone wrath
The palace’s synthetic message
The rape of celebrity worship
Names written in neon-semen
stuffed animals on a spirit-quest
tongues twisted in sick-speak
like the Lindela mystic sees life as economics
& the foreign label attracts profiteer tics
descend from the skies of class…to suck
Human definition of domesticated beasts
(another fire over Rostock)
traffic signs on the road to destiny
green the uniform in their humanity’s expression
so we’re bending to dog position
until they brainwash when they cum
beasts in suit-and-tie disguise
programmed to burning tree klannishness
The dead the maggots forgot
Goners among the fawners
Write to the beat of the anaesthetic
Generation of the apathetic
Who will incite the yawners?
Value is gauged by pedigree…
Take unemployment lines pass them off as verse
Soon we hear the padda kwaak dressed up in Prada
where & whom you’re from determines your fashion & form
cry the Immaculate Conception babies
Sting in the male & the bite in the female
soft as the eyes of annihilators
show your stealth certificate
from the page the stage (that’s rhyme basic as a louse…
Or just human rights)
Are we a back-to-front species?
As once again it is red sunset
Our heroes are Mannequins with speech habits
Close the casket…they’ve made the synthetic iconic
It’s the Rule of the pathetic wack…
Their flow insipid as a blocked toilet
Shopping mall fartistic
Creating by party convention
They kiss it, on their knees at the feet of the Emperor
& his entourage.
No worries, they wear designer knee-pads…
the machine-gun punk performer applauds
as his junk dignity drops like a spent cartridge.
The works of cash are manifest in prostration
Blinded in the glow of avarice
Gone Galatians hostile to dissent
They hold up their seven deadly virtues…
Each has their death to choose.
They hang the dissident by his tongue-stump.
If there’s a slump in the flock-market
to the abattoir with the shepherd.
there cums the gore-monger
watch the terror-wrist flick where the Christian speaks
© Lesego Rampokoleng