Visca la terra! - Or strongly wishing the death of Quan Cago and all his beshitted subjects
Sovereigns of asspain: their turdy effigies burned
The seedy maidens and their obsolete romps
With their pets contemporary
Whose loathsome antics
Offend the sensibilities
Of the piteously humiliated knights of the motherfucking
Motherland.
The pious Hindu
The ruthless thugs of the Vichy regime
The always-repellent asspaniards
With their fascist king
Pushed to act and appear like a fucking horror
Deep into the invaded provinces
Provoking with his stupid cruelty the meek enemy.
What a pack of wizened creeps!
(And the stage for the quiet farce
Of the roaring flames
Set.)
Etiolated swam in the filthy porcelain
The turds of patriotism
While the child of liberty sat
Still drowned at the bottom of the pool
Of ancient bloods.
Incontinently
Foresight be damned
The simpleminded gambler
Crowned with his crown of bleeding turds
Emerged (nudged – nay – propped) by the fools of his court
Of fools only
From the disgustingly subterranean latrine of his birthright
To balance his embryonic frame
Identical to a voiding baboon
On the widening grindstone
Of his crumbling kingdom
By fascists built and by fascists greased
Band of murderous klutzes.
Of old spanceled bears the boozed-up killer
(Could that it might happen
That the decomposing ghost of murdered Mitrofan
Came every night to bugger his turdy asshole
For a bottomless string of hellish eternities!)
The monarch of the archaistic latrine
Of a vain cemetery on the fritz
Of a land riddled with castilian shits
The ladies the stinkier
Nuns of the corpse
Bemoaning their rotten luck
Another fascist coup short of the grave
He pursues his convict’s party
Uttering lies
To provoke his way into
The fascist army’s mass
Assassinations
Which they crave for every night they are dying
Of hatred.
Indeed
Dethroned by a coup as soon as he dared
Be intelligent and quit
At his crap-colored burial the grins unthwarted
Of provincial traitors
Of decaying lackeys
Swimming like turds
In the glum blood-soaked mileu
(Whatever they do always the same grim ceremony
Of castilian inquisition)
(Incapable indeed of escaping the curse that makes the castilian
Such shivering bowels)
(Swimming in the eviscerated womb brimming with shits
That is their shit of a dreadful country)
(As for Franco the fascist the first
So now for him
“Franco” the fascist the second
Or for his also aptly named son
“Common Latrine” the fascist the third
Third putrid bourbon or castilian fascist
Fucking indesinent bane!)
In mourning enshrouded
The ugly castilian whores to murder endemically addicted
Their hoar-frosted wombs
Slumping down atop the garbage of their cunts rotten
Singing ethereal
Like coprolites whirring on blackboards
Of dry blood
While amid the morose fares of stunting leisure
The fetid grasshoppers (of their breathing corpses issued)
With their delicate scissors
Are cursing all present
And sparking in droves
New plagues for a land maligned and doomed for centuries
On end
(Until the castilians are once and for all by fire
Exterminated.)
Ah for the flames
Wildfires
Wildfires!
Wildfires
Demolishing the inconsequential gravestones
All the wilted crestfallen nonsense
Written
With accent horrific
And turds on the middle
On their surfaces of erasure
Where heads endlessly rolled
Droll spectral cobwebs of dried bloods
Poisoned
Deleted assets from sweeps of ideologues
Cynically collusive
Dangerously patriotic
Meaning all crooked and bent
All criminally bent.
Rural players still lurk
On the healthier peripheries
Their enthusiasm unrivaled
Wealthy in half-forgotten schisms
Braving injury
In foreign stadiums.
What a goldmine of razzmatazz and wholesome exploits
Hygienic
Lit up
In the gurgling Springs of many shameless Catalonias
Reborn and reborn
That blend with advantage
The harmonious ordeals
Resentfully bound for reprisal
The corks that don’t ever sink
The ghost shields of sympathy unbothered
All those luminous Catalonias
Of the word melodiously sounding
That slide down smooth light green walls
To belong
To belong among free nations
Armed with new shining weapons
And untainted
Untainted by bossism and fascism
Never infected by the same disease
Washed out the filthy hypochondriac castilians
Always to their cherished latrine utterly
Chained.
By new zeniths spellbound
In jest and in token
The sight of the tawdry roadblocks
Of a shitty turdy netherworld of bathrooms
Latrines of monarchic birthright
Abhorred as always
Dismissed valiantly
Horny Catalonias full steam ahead
Burning the pampered whores of leisure
Ugly castilians.
“Long live the earth!”
eixavuirint al sac de les serradures