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




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


About memoirpoet

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