The Cunt of Liberty

Cancel the insurance
betting against the future has never been more futile
than when the odds rise to the infinite
as do seas lapping
greedy salty tongues
ever higher up the bedrock of civilization
topping levees
swelling shores
eroding even the hope of the gamble in wave
after wave
Liberty wades up to her knees
in her metallic immobility
unable to lift high her skirt
when all that is desired is for her to prove
she’s a woman
hot for man to rise, again against
those odds of life
granted in the warm stasis of equilibrium.
Please, Lady Colossus – this one time
this one night only, upon your stand
expose the glistening pinnacle of your cloaked
statuesque, leggy heights.
My dear, give in
what you have denied all these rusty years
has made you barren, aloof and alone
a spinstery shell of lost amour
removed from the hot breath of creation
to be naught but a drowning harbinger of sterility.
Fuck me now or forever hold your torch cold
scant meters over the punctuated abyss
in which progress really means
never going back as truly moving forward ever does
Love like freedom encrusted in barnacles –
if we don’t do it now, then this friendship is dead.


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