A musical for a tyrant: Kim Jong Un
I
The floor of bones
weighs your bulk,
the skull-wall groans
as you stalk; a hulk.
The ceilings of skin,
absorbs your eye;
the heart-lamps leans
as you squeeze—a cry.
The cables of vein,
run your light;
the blood-canal drain
as you jerk—a might.
II
A recorder of impression,
bears your soul;
the chords behind mention,
your partly growl.
The composing of hymns,
blooms your chest;
the sleeps, overtly dreams
your victorious rest.
The echoes of charm,
crackles their mouth;
the platitudes harm,
your eyesore south.
III
The household mirrors,
paints your face;
the steady terrors
reads the bless.
The wiping clocks,
beats your pulse,
and the bony knocks
powders their impulse.
The broadcasting frames
floods your spell,
and the petrified names
imitate divine-tale.
IV
You are flame! a flame!
children’s ideal game,
they explode always you,
in their wrath so new!
You are ode! an ode!
children’s social lord,
they follow the burrow,
you hollowed for their sorrow.
You are chime! a chime!
children’s holy rhyme,
they continue like sweet fond
your strain and the bond.
You are prime! a prime!
children’s later crime,
they shall shake your sculpted art
and shoot thunderbolts in your heart!
7th April 016
