Drilliad
My muse a bad bitch,
who fucked this sad skit
inside this script flipped brain.
My muse a bad bitch,
who fucked this sad skit
inside my blood print,
gain the flow of sirens poor
and out,
the sea and sing and sing
about Achilles
and how he killed these
Trojan hoodrats
and how he killed that
hope that shone out
like the gold bat
he swung in third grade
and how the skull cracks
and slams against brain
how those blood hands
dropped that red bat
how that boy’s mom
asked where god’s at
and how his main bitch
held his dread
locks and kept the dread
naught from nulling
more out
when he was just fifteen.
Whole life’s blood
a wine-dark sea
on asphalt space
the shots replace
Zeus’s death bolt
crash through dead bolt
nail the dead cold
to the cold door
the roached hallway
the newly sieged shore.
Maybe Troy was just a trap house.
Hector still a loving father,
but Troke went and mugged the wrong man
and god be damned if shit didn’t hit the fan.
Hector killed Troke
and slit the fuck’s throat
and let him bleed outside.
When he found out
who Troke fucked with
Hector knew
that he was done with.
Pale he held his wife,
pale he fell, the whites
of his eyes trembled
the size of pupils swell
like the wine dark sea.
The sea was bound to be
where Hector found he
was drowned by gundrops
the storm was coming
the swell-- Achilles
A brand-new glock
got a bronze finish
shines in the Chi
like a sun. Cherish
that gunpowder Xiphos,
its looking for a runner
searching with its gunner
so cry boy, cry
out to your god
about how unfair
Achilles with a gun
and Hector pulling hair
The spear done slung
the bolt from the gun
clear rung, clear rung
out the other side
of Hector’s pierced skull
his shipped went down
in storm with cracked hull.
The wine dark sea,
it had to be it had to be
As he emptied a full clip
and tied Hector to the back of his whip.
12
Posted Apr 27, 2017, 9:16 PM UTC
I really love the word play and juxtaposition of Hellenic classics to modern vernacular. But quick question:
is it supposed to be pour or poor?