These Fascists, These Wolves

These fascists,
These wolves,

The kind who keep
Spittle on their teeth

And piss in the shadows
All cross-eyed.

We sing in the hope
Our words
Will disease you.

These fascists,
These wolves,

All intellectual growls
And simmering blood lust,

The kind that fall
Into routines of hatred

And clamp claws
To their pitiful
Offspring.

We sing with a melody
Best kept in trees,

And soon we will dance
On your bones.

4 Responses to “These Fascists, These Wolves”

  1. Write on! Nicely done and right to the heart of it!

  2. I love the venom and the vicious imagery of this poem awesome!

  3. Dennis Carter Says:

    I like the sense of inevitability in these lines:

    ‘The kind that fall
    Into routines of hatred’

    as if to say ‘well, what do you expect of them?’

  4. Everyone needs a GRRR poem every now and again

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