one has to know when one can speak he said
but I am too much the fool to keep quiet
to play to caution’s lick-spittle advice
I would rather stumble about the yard
slipping in the jackal’s still ripe leavings
than sit ensconced in sycophant’s glory
the borrowed robes of a chimeric king
disguise one’s cowardice in silken lies
one’s silence imparts a complicity
to the swift arc of the truncheon’s skull crack
one’s conscience eased as the street’s paved in teeth
one’s words should wait for the right time to speak
stands next to fear with a smile and a nod
a reception line for the right hand of god
(July 21, 2014)
subtext 