Post it, dub it



Fluids spatter the frame swinging in the wind

shield, triumphant in your dusty black garb –

scan your irises, analyse the veins in your hand,

check the newsfeed, we’ll track you down


the chanting of the desert column is silent, dust settles

over their slaughtered ranks, post it, dub it

get inside some poor bugger’s head, work their mind

smooth operator with rough hands, know no mercy


this is real-time execution, networked –

align them, chin up, but first select your knives,

wait for continuity, and the cameras to roll,


each raucous cry an echo of love, a twisted mind,

choke pockets of resistance, behead, crucify



Patrick Williamson

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