whisperingquill

Street Sweeper Retribution


Speakeasy of the streets be 
you back peddled joining the chorus of canaries dropping dimes on the dark shine
 rat bastard malignancy, 

press rewind on the low rise of high tide

double tap toe tagged closed casket 
black hand never ceases cold creases
 mother on her knees rivers she weeps 
Colombian neck ties for your kids if they get wise.

Garroted stupefied calculated demise vengeance is always mine
 hit the mattresses blowback madness

Cosa Nostra schematics master savage 
first reaction on second ascension wraith depleted senescence resplendent, 

stipulated sentence 
coagulated hesitance tongue whored schmuck Chicago typewriter swiss cheesed hellfire .


Hate born and fire baptised it grinds and roars thunder distant and dangerous, like a meteor-leathal macgine-souled beast as if spit; sparks and metal-shard severed arteries from the heart of our battered and ancient blood soaked island soil, catapulting, revenge bent battering ram-vindictive and razorwheel ruthless boring like an abomination drill of disaterous honor and death hemorrhage.
We feed the drone fleshed gypsies, we line the pockets of polished parasites, we fall upon this lamb like a swarm of extortion we prowl lile poison within the veins of this young and culturless land all who are NOT "paisán" are lambs for the slaughter we make our bones in the lake of fire, and tunnel like a dark and dangerous worm beneath the jagged skins of all your cities hair slick sharkskin killers adorned in gold crosses we bear though we do the devils work...lead peppered corpses wire slashed necks the shotgun seat is a one way trip along suicide doors deadmen who told a tale too many moldering in shallow pits beneath rhe pines, cement-shoed soldiers weaving like decaying gray seaweed in the currents, face down in a plate of brain-blood and veal... bloated maggot farms in the trunk off the turnpike..if your blood doesnt flow from our blood soiled land youre an outsider si"l solo Sicilia en ese cosa" even the boot dwelling guidos need not apply...our land languished under many...we will NOT languish under you, we spit at the feet of your torch lit French whore, we dispise your slavers doctorine of lies and deceit "lo sono di morte di tua impero...sono Siciliano


Shades of blackness and wretched madness circling the bandits of societies gladness. They stride in stratus, distracted, panicked, by the never-ending vastness of their emptiness and sadness.
Take the time to see the rhyme in fine print
lost in a sea of uncertainty and climate
Controling our mileage, the signage
lighting the flames with fine flint
Fires defined it, marking history inside pits.
Warriors of status climbing the lattice, of the palace of fatness, filling up on malice.
A goal in mind set, destruction through national debt
Teach us the alphabet knowledge that leads you to a net.
to keep us in confinement, ridicule, forced consignment
prepared for enshrinement, the moment the light hits the eyelids.


Fedora lays loosely
crimson hued
burnt specks rising residue
perhaps it's the
black talon phlebotomy,
a Yale cigar still clenched
in chattering teeth
rigor-mortis concerto.
Galante no more
Capo di tutt'i Capo
arrivederci
testa di cazzo.
La mano nera
holding ace of spades.
you piccione the word
on the street be
you flipped 25 with an L
loose lipped rubacchiare,
started out a button man
rose through the ranks
a good earner got hooked on eroina
made a play for higher up
thunderstruck claiming Jupiter's
power now fester in disarray.
cold sinewed Gehanna awaits
Diavolo too, they say
a coward dies a thousand deaths
a snitch dies when greed gets
greenly in his eyes,
rubicon derivative
for your introspective
percussive ego feast
on rancid meat in the
inferno of lecherous tyranny.



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