Selim's Blog
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by
Foul is the new fair says the highest of cultures. Swim in the filth pond.
Ensconced in his dream,the king stokes his fat bellyand plays with his shit.
Speak not of the creepbut consume what he provides—oh, to be elite.
To always be rightdemands a torrent of words—no moon on the pond.
The petard that hoistshas the eternal victim.What tale will he tell?
Lying with a cross —she could sell her honey potwith more honesty.
Braying at the gate—a young American mouthknows no boundary.
The sun never set. And the arrogance was vast. Some still call it home.
Sometimes she vomits. My black cat is old like me. May she always be.
Red, green, and brown leaves. A land I knew very well. Now I say goodbye.
Selim's Blog 