Ms. Liberty

Her breasts pushed up against my chest,
attentive as a midnight blossom;
transmuted reality adorned a pink halo
in the perfection of horizontal plains.

Flesh, immortalized, arched on a cross
as ambitious orbs surveyed Eden;
wrapped in star-born sheets
the bliss of heavenly bodies roared.

I lay there for a millennium
as we gazed into the pubescent yesterday;
weak, fatigued, bones sunk in starving regret
as bombs blasted, fragments bled dust.

I blame one nation,
selfish bastards of greed,
dirty seeds of elephants and asses;
with insincere apologies to Ms. Liberty,
we fucked her with mindless rage.

Copyright © 2018 – Brian Nettles. All Rights Reserved

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