A poem by Sean Barney
To see their faces, know just what it’s like
when shrines are built atop Olympus Mons.
The moment screaming, desperate on the mic,
A certain chord we all must have to strike,
no Deal or Deal, waving alien wands
To see their faces, know just what it’s like:
Hammer of the drum, a head through a spike,
Sampson shattering his eternal bonds.
The moment screaming, desperate on the mic.
Menacing once, then a child on a trike,
Splintering ice on Massachusetts ponds,
to see their faces, know just what it’s like
More frightening than a one-thousand year reich,
as gentle as a palm and all its fronds,
the moment screaming, desperate on the mic.
Wave of mutilation breaking the dike.
Here comes your man, the fourth Charlie Thompson
to see their faces, know just what it’s like:
The moment screaming, desperate on the mic.
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