On a half-chilly half-breezy day
as I stroll arm and arm with freedom of speech
a shouter draws my attention
to a makeshift stage
while verbal venomous stones fly pass my eyes
and I stare at two naked Ken dolls duct-taped together
dangling from a rope
whilst a hate-monger delights
in the vomit of his soul
rolling sewage off his blackened tongue
dripping onto the ears
of the malleable clay images
standing behind the generational platform.
Melissa writes about the God and human connection and condition.