Roma

The rain in Rome hits the

dust

and the damned

the statues posed

by dead hands

the people here

living among

ghosts who would

destroy them

given the chance to

be fleshed for just

minutes

walking the streets and waiting for

something to happen

could be the hangover

could be the history

could be the faces absorbing

an American reflection

could be survival

has been hidden by comfort

since the time of

fights until death for

their amusement,

but even the high seats

couldn’t

have fathomed

the capriciousness

of today

the oligarchies

the clean and sickening

breaks in echelons

and the populace of the

lower to mediocre classes

the greed

the stupidity

the gracelessness

the raise,

worship and admiration

of talentless dumbfucks

against statues

and paintings

of great men

who've left behind timeless

and ageless

things

from which nothing is retained

or the rule of

men brave enough to be

unabashed in their savagery

yet informed enough to

be fair and graceful and

swift

the eyes of the world

now covered

with the slime

of media

of regurgitated

bullshit

lepers

and

Judas

in Gucci

but the Sun

burns high above

the city

the ruins

the center of

Rome

and the eyes

of rats

watching

and waiting

and grinning

from the

sewers.