Scabs

Body bags became our rags

 

As we spewed laugh-less trite 

 

About “Rag Heads,” deserts, disgust

 

About tinseled 9.11-rust and New Yor’ Ricans 

 

 

Mustn’t ask how many died.

 

It’s a secret, shhush, so they can lie. 

 

We hid behind a moral pride

 

When we murder extols no toll

 

Our eyes roll up lobotomized

 

Into the sky 

 

We praise the phallic poll

 

flag waving

 

Like a guest at the end-zone goal 

 

 

Madison etched the greatest prose I suppose

 

Rhetoric and lofty goals

 

Come clean and clean your nose

 

Peruvians know what you chose.

 

By the power vested in saints

 

We’d suck a cowboy to steal his Paint

 

We’d rob our kindergartner’s souls

 

We take what’s yours, ours, theirs and whole

 

And make it into lesser parts

 

 

Steal Son-day’s sunsets

 

Trade them for a gallon

 

Of that huffin’ cream puffin’ fluffin’ petrol

 

That mighty coal-sperm of the fossils 

 

A fluid fluid worth a murder

 

Why not kill a pair?

 

For some dirty underwear 

 

I’d kill 4,936 for my share

of gold

 

Gimme

 

Let me take you lower

 

To the place where colonels blunder

 

Another soul blackened asunder

 

From the rifles we marched under

 

To the lesser

 

To the lust

 

To the listless

 

To the crust

 

Of the scabs

Atop our once-belief

Drippin’ from my once belief

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About memoirpoet

I've been faking it as a writer for more than 30 years. Keep that low.
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