Rape and the Soft Underbelly by Grant Tarbard

It’s the fear that kills,
The violin squeal
At the apex nape
In cloven shape shifts
Of the madonna

And the virgin birth.
The girl was young, the
Swines rooted out like
A daisy. Who was
It on the far side

Of dawn who chased word
Shadows on the brine
Beneath big blue tears
As you fight to breathe.
Sad that their meal is

Dying, waiting for
The punch in the flab,
Soft underbelly
Of Italian bread
And Swastika light.

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