Do you make the world a hell because your Heaven can’t be got?
Do you vex the puppeteer, my dear, who gave you life, Petrushka?
This pedestal of skeletons, the one for which you fought,
Will stand forever in the poison wind that blows toward Russia
Was it slow or were you rotten from the start?
At the head of the table
the big boy glowers
Huff puff, blow it up,
land of sand and sunflowers
Does it feel like every sting you shoved down deep inside your heart?
That festering of feathers in a long forsaken bower
Was it slow like Sunday letters or were you rotten from the start?
Did you torture that old setter just to watch the old bitch cower?
Was it slow or were you rotten from the start?
At the head of the table
the big boy glowers
Huff puff, blow it up,
land of sand and sunflowers
Can you see the serial killer in the mirror of your soul?
Or are your eyes just a disguise to cover two black holes?
The whole world wants to see you look your cyclops in the eye
You can haunt your puppeteer, my dear, for long after you die
Do you like to set yourself apart?
At the head of the table, the big boy glowers,
Huff puff, blow it up,
Land of sand and sunflowers
J. Drew, 2022
