Tuesday, 22 November 2011

The Bloody Cobweb

A spider trapped in his own web,
he feeds on the bodies of men,
his machine guns squeeze hot juice,
red, from children, and he eats

till with his tanks he makes more webs,
he handcuffs men by the neck,
his cannons splatter blood on roads,
dark red, and those not dead hang

on lampposts, or they run in videos
that he cannot find or break.
So we see his coliseum,
the red floor, his anger asurge,

his face long, longing for power.
But he has wounds from each bullet,
and his long legs, one after the other,
become red jello, sticky, and stuck.

© Lavinia Kumar

Syria: isolated and losing friends
Lavinia Kumar lives in New Jersey. Her family includes a variety of cultures and immigrants. Her poetry has appeared in Waterways, Thatchwork (Delaware Valley Poets), Orbis, US1 Worksheets, and more.