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Dead Languages

A man comes on my TV screen
Says Jesus danced on a lagoon
We're auctioning off His sandals
The bidding starts at noon
We found the bones of the actual ass
He rode on Palm Sunday to town
It's yours with five easy installments
It's a limited offer, call now

You can have the copper washbowl
That Pilate used to wash his hands
Original sceptres from Passover's
Last supper in the holy land
Display for friends in your armoire
At the housing authority
With a genuine Certificate
Of Authenticity

Houses are painted fuchsia here
But there's always that one screwball
With lavender monuments on his lawn
That turn orange every fall
They talk of Boxer Dog Rebellions
Like it should mean something to me
But I never ask questions when outer space
Is torturing my Inner Free

Out on the fringes across the tracks
From the scruburbs of Sanitatia
In the District of Disturbia
On the outskirts of Displacia
The Mayor of Distortia
Speaks Jurisdictionese
To tents on the backs of Boxers
Pitched by rebellious circus fleas

And somehere near Disinformattia
Southwest of Lagoony Park
There's a furtive union meeting
The Royal Brotherhood of Snark
They tell us Snarks are fearful
Their bite is much worse than their bark
The joke is that they don't draw blood
But they always leave a mark

Over in Dialectica
Where Jack-In-The-Boxes dwell
On the borders of Fantasia
Nine longitudes southwest of Hell
The weasels are all popping up
To besmirch the holy name of Jack
Sprout developmentally disabled
Cartoon castle housing tracts

Where fortress walls are painted fuchsia
But there's always one screwball
With chartreuse statues on his lawn
That turn to bridge trolls in the fall
Where conversation splinters
Into a thousand razor shards
And everyone seeks refuge
In old abandoned hearts

Open your bibles, if you will
To the Book of Levitations
Where people worship Golden Arches
Each a walking revelation
We all tap-dance upon the clouds
Make the razor rain fall harder
Where no one ever dies alone
'Cause all of us are martyrs

So go ahead, fall on your sword
Find a cause worthy to die for
Fuchsia castles, golden idols
Your Holy Temples' wholly war
Saints in their fuchsia bikinis
Hosanna eyes-deep in the mud
Sacrifice is never virginal
On altars painted with tainted blood

When blood sacrifice meant something
One sacrifice was blameless
Historians in dead language
Try to render that One nameless
With linguistic acrobatics
Revisionistic truth is taught
Your modern languages are dead
The ancient Truth is not

You can purchase Pharaoh's wagon wheels
From some huckster on TV
Ancient evidence costs nothing
The Truth will set you free

 © John Kennan 10-1-20
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Submitted by rankstranger7 on May 24, 2021

2:17 min read
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    "Dead Languages" Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2021. Web. 23 Jul 2021. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/100863/dead-languages>.

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