Felique Dupré in the Haunted World: Among the French Cymbalists


(symbol.crash)

She has strolled the
twenty yards among
the desperate Italians
who sleep on fine couches
beneath that crummy hotel
over Washington Square.

The wind as a Southern Storm
lifts her up to the land of
wildflowers and Irish seascapes.

Flemish belles wring

A clarion call!
An armistice! And
Felique is alone on a
subway that goes
nowhere.

As surely as the clock ticks,

Just as surely there is a way
to escape the Village

But for Felique, whose anguish
has never been televised

And whose skirts are off the rack

There is no escape to money
and romance.

 

This poem was first posted in March 2015 as a standalone piece but it’s part of the Felique Dupré in the Haunted World  prose poems.

 

Poem and Image Rob Goldstein (c) 2015 All Rights Reserved

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the “Parasites”

"William's Window"

the "Parasites"

They came with their politics,

Their money, their greed,

Stealing from the poor,

On countries to feed.

.

The world, their game board,

And we, the playing pieces,

Just sacrificial pawns,

For the few, the one.

.

They hide behind bullshit,

Spread by their sycophants,

Flaunting their privilege,

This class of psychopaths.

.

Society their blood vessel,

They latch on and suck,

“The ultimate parasite,”

The people just grunt.

.

Taxes and credit,

Bailouts and more,

Kickbacks and bribes,

Economy through the floor.

.

Never is enough,

An unsatisfied hunger,

Our democracy’s decayed,

The world to their plunder.

.

Hear the war mongers?

They scream for the elite,

“Our parasites are hungry,”

From one and all, shall eat.

.

by
William Hancock © All Rights Reserved

…………………………………………………………………………..

[ Image used:  pixabay.com/en/annual-report-stock-exchange-203761 ]

Poem on Image:  placed by; written by  William Hancock © 2015′

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