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  1. Pope Albacore
    All it was,
    was a little blood.
    A few drops of life
    leading us into our
    smokehouse.

    Like a medium on another
    plane, I knew it
    was coming towards us.
    Everyone will take blame
    for this letdown.

    Of course fingers dipped
    in honey shall point in
    many directions.
    Our pride that we so
    diligently defended
    since the crossing has
    been spat upon.

    I knew it was coming,
    but not so soon.
    I shall sit at the right hand
    of my father and follow
    his orders.
    Our tongues will not
    fill the wounds we have
    caused to fester.

    I shall sit at the right hand
    of my father and watch.
    And when the chimes tell of the
    storm, I will already be reloading.

    -Pope Albacore

Comments

  1. Potter
    Awesome!
  2. guldenat
    I don't think there is tuna anywhere who wouldn't appreciate their pope's poetry.
  3. Ilsa
    intriguing...i like the last verse a lot.

    as rushdie says of poets:

    A poet's work is to name the unnameable, to point at frauds, to take sides, start arguments, shape the world, and stop it going to sleep.
  4. helikophis
    Nice poem!
  5. Master_Khan
    Pretty vivid stuff Pope. Nice job.
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