we are angels
with cathedrals,
prophets, and poems
to prove it  

other species  
are not endowed
with such gifts:

the ceiling
of the Sistine Chapel
the pyramids, loosing
the bounds of earth
to walk on a moon...
psychoanalysis
the atomic bomb
Anthrax, dioxin
and gunfire
gunfire  

we are maggots
on rotting fruit, sated now
looking for a place to hop off,
to escape before the fruit falls fast  
to the ground

before the oceans rise
and the skies fill with ash
surely we can fly away

but we are wingless
angels, killer angels  
killer angels

Beware! Trump or Hilary are going to win,
Scary! Should middle America hit the gin?
What does this imply for planet Earth?
Any different politicians for dessert?
Scary! Trump or Hilary are going to win!
Now, where did we hide all our gin?

Intoxicated, liquor going down the esophagus, hiding from my problems because I'm still devastated. Will we end up obliterated by the crap we have done, it was all fun, but now we have no where to run. I tried expressing all my worries, but a lot of yawl not hearing me, it's not just illimunati theories but that's all you choose to see. Emotions fluctuate so much, so easy to lose touch, so easy for life to leave you crushed. Starting to suffocate, why didn't we cultivate? Why did yawl hesitate? Is the future truly set, are we truly the keepers of our fate? Degeneration of these degenerates, starting to reap our recompense. Tried to keep positivity elevated, tried to not keep my expectations elevated, tried to leave my negativity eradicated. Separated by technology, separated, man we even  try to figure out each other using psychology. Separating what makes us do what we do, to figure out what struggle is true.  Separated by race, if you intermix you're treated like a disgrace. Separated countries, towns, cities, and continents, separated religion and genders, and you don't fall in line your incompetent. So I drink, bottle after bottle, isn't that my people's motto? That's what we got told by privileged whites, and if we revolted, we got hung up like kites. Gangs and drugs, created into monsters, by all these monsters. Now a broken generation oppresses each other, now we decide who is native enough, we have become cain, just a killer brother. Oh brother you may say, you have a choice to make life bright or keep it staying grey. Three to six generations of broken treaties, three generations of residential schools, forced to lose our culture and embrace your culture and your deity's. Now why don't you try dealing with that, only one generation out, and we still treated like rats. Killed anyone different, whether that be native, black, asian, it didn't matter you held your entitled nose and became ignorant. What did we deserve to get this, there are days I wish I didn't exist, because we are still dealing with this. I guess it is what it is, it's just your average day being ethic, never going to be treated better even if your if a ****. Don't believe me, just ask Ahmed Mohamed, that's why I believe this world needs to get hit with another comet.

a crooked ugly man walked up
and said "all hope is spent
i'll build a wall and save you all
and be your president

believe me, i can cure all ills
and make all merkins proud
if you'll just take this oil of snake
i sell to every crowd

for any lie becomes the truth
if you but scream it thrice
so plant the seed then others bleed
and you don't pay the price

come spend your vote to buy my line
of prejudice and hate
ignore the churl of all the world
we'll make our nation great"

a machinating woman comes
the way her husband went
"i've done no crime i'm next in line
to be your president

you see how he goes off the rails
and nothing said is true
i can't shoot straight, i fabricate
but never lie to you

lost last time when set to win
this time did what i can
and worked my scut to undercut
an inconvenient man

we're dealing from the bottom, folks
the country's gone to ***
i may not be the best there is
but i'm the best you've got"

so laugh about it, shout about it,
when you've got to choose
your **** is hoist on Hobson's choice
the poison or the noose

How do I hate thee? I cannot count the ways.
That you are a clueless, narcissistic proto-fascist
Are words so true
They make me rue
That I’d not the durst
To use them first.
But here are a few
That well  may be new
To vilipend you.

You move limacine-like
Into the nasty netherworld
Of  our national nuttiness
Spinning whigmaleeries
That you prompt gailliardese
Among those not yet dead of brain.

You are a *******, a blatherskite,
And a fanforan.

So How do I hate thee?
With the breath,
Smiles, tears,
Of all my life,
And if Fate choose,
I shall but hate thee greater
After death.

- Dan Wick