Friday, June 27, 2014

The Glorious Twelfth

Of your victims
I smelt your murder
Sticking to my nostrils
That putrid, filthy conscience

That you wiped off
With her blood
Expelled
With that sound

The speed of sound
Her child
They screamed
Together in death

Your ego
Caught up with your pulse
As you painted Belfast
A mural to the unjust







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