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
                eradicated cysts
book-spines break
(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
                              rhythm-soul enslavement
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