Politikal Kolonkos
By Fayia Sellu, California, USA
They don’t have to change brothels
But some, they do, often.
Send to: Adressee, homeless
Whom will that not, soften?
Sheep in a ship, Captainless
The cost is higher
When there are no condoms
’Should always be capital to use condoms
Some don’t
Their hampers will dry on clothes lines
They won’t
Hmmm we have known
Some to hang too
In the past seasons
For hapless treasons
Upwards of 7 million clients
The floor, the mat, the bed...
72 thousand plus square miles
Worth of anywhere
Long-time or Short-time?
Sunrise and Sunsets
Over Palm Trees
Moonshine and kerosine lamps
They are the clocks
In this rudderless business
Ethno-regional prophylaxis is
Needed for munificient power
Bestowed without cogitation
By a mass of mendicant souls
In propitiation, the masses
Their grease offered, suppliant
To run the engine of their perjury
It is high stakes Kabuki
One is behind bars, in exile
Or choking on your own fat
With greed, more, avarice
Counseling the self-entanglement
Of strictly mechanic, plastic
Ejaculations in the retrogressive
Strokes of this ever cross-breeding
Where they tie a cow... That Breed
Bred we have, generations
Of this species: Politikis Kolonkitis
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