My flag

My flag has fading colours
frills bleached with time
and silly ventures
freed from enslaving poles
and ravaging invaders
claiming the infinite territories
unoccupied land
and annihilated colonies
unholy earth of mass graves,
wiping out walking dead men
and their following wives
pushing ugly offspring
always in a hurry
always attracted to some decrepit wall
or idolatrous directions.

My flag is clear
despite my colour blindness
its red carries all shades of human blood
the traces left in love and war
the pieces coming out of childbirth
and what remains after napalm 
the inappropriately pink and the sombre death crimson
the corporate expropriated colours
from radical realms rarely realised
rewritten graffiti
and second hand manifestos.

And there is whiteness
in fifty shades
the veiled and the exposed
the unsaid and the sensational
the smugness of whoreish virgins
the shyness of sluts
a pussy riot in corrupted cathedrals
delusional linen on beds of arranged marriages
on wedding night
orgasmic orgies mimicking the nativity
the allegedly sacred 
and the clearly desecrated
the fantastic never-ending torture of phosphorous
the void and the carte blanche
the tabula rasa and the frantic scribblings
on white boards and coffee-stained napkins
the smoke-roller's paper
the melancholic landscape of your skin.

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2 thoughts on “My flag

  1. Still writing to her then

  2. The muse, yes 🙂

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