Behemoth Wants To Die

Behemoth 
wants to die

It flings the curtain
from its face
so we can see it
snickering as it tries
to choke itself 
It scolds us for saying
it could live if it changes
It sneers at changes
It loves its burglary records
It loves its murder tributes
It loves its most vile deeds
even as it sobs that it’s changed
and why are we
so mean

Behemoth
wants to die

It sucks poison air
drifting through
its shops and taverns
and calls it good
It spits raw bile
while laughing at the discomfort
of those upon whom it lands
It insists it is God-chosen 
and Heaven made 
even as it longs to die
even if it is removed upon death
from here to Hell

Behemoth 
wants to die

Wrapped in a blood flag
over a camouflage suit
A pair of sunglasses 
and a salesman’s smile
A fat wallet in its hand
blocking the sun
Singing its anthem
and rolling like an infant
on the floor
in the muck of its stall
while claiming
it never knew
and so what
and so what now
and so this is how
and won’t we be sorry
when it at last is gone

We look down
at Behemoth
in shit on the floor
while holding
mops and shovels

We’ve bided our time
for a long span
We can bide our time
a bit more

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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