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Poetry #424
(published March 5, 2009)
by Anthony Liccione
First to arrive to the scene all the kings horsemen and all the kings men, just looked upon the yolk shattered eggshell pieces and the slime of snot running down the wall and into a soul puddle—only to turn broken hearted knowing that their swords and knights were unable to bring unity and peace.

This pleased the mathematicians that wanted to gather credit if they should be the ones to fix,so they came with their tweezers and calculators hoping to count each piece and puzzle back together, but they left the flood of confusion feeling the effects of infinite zero—adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing their minds unequal.

This unsettled the quacks of physicians that crowd like ducks over this egg,contemplating the who, the how and what probing with their stethoscopes and electrocuting the heart to restart. They drop a five hundred dollar bill onto the chest and flock forth to their high-walled and guarded gate mansions.

In slithered the politicians to gain rank that came by with their coated speeches calling this a heartless, barbaric act. One spoke up of how he knew Humphrey Egg, who voiced and begged, pleaded and pledged his heart at a convention, hoping a changed world, honest society. Soon to disappear in the rags of a flag.

The salient magicians caught wind thinking they could conjure up a spell with their wand, and rescind this fall by producing enormous wings and fly, but they walk away half bewildered that their tricks lay only in the cast of cards: kings, queens and aces having its place in the pace of illusion.

Finally the morticians dragged in ultimately knowing they would have the final say, to give this silver line a grave. Having seen this scene before, cautiously walking over shells they brought out their brooms and swept a death under a dark cloud, let the rain take the goo to the sewers.

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