A convoy of trucks crossing the desert ...
dust ...
& a constant passing
in the moonlight,

dead parrots in a flowing stream,
jewels ...
in the palm of the hand,

white women
wearing long dresses,
whales ...
in the deepest, deepest
part of the ocean,

smooth fingers
caressing her thigh ...
dark hair ...
twisting in the wind.

Amidst the forest
& fields of lush, lush green
the ladies dance
in their red,
their yellow
& their blue,
while the studious men
watch from afar ...

what dreams!

Eating Cadbury's chocolate handed
to you by sultry Amazons as you
float gently down the river Seine
in Paris while accompanying Frenchmen
in berets gently play their harmonium
thingy as the younger Brigitte Bardot
lets her blond hair tumble gently over
your face as she softly hums in your
ear songs by Smokey Robinson,

& meanwhile Hendrix's long sweet jam
Voodoo Chile blasts from enormous
banks of speakers being towed alongside
by Viking longboats crewed by Republican
politicians & overseen by the ladies of
***** riot now free from the prison cells
of Siberia,

as Tommy Cooper performs magic tricks
& near extinct animals, birds & insects
mate freely among floating clouds of
vapoury spring dew,

while deliciously gorgeous Thai ladyboys
slowly peel grapes for me before setting
off in a fluttering cloud to use their wiles
& charms on Republican conventioneers,
as you relax & smoke ***** & share a
hot-tub with God.

Joy.

Subtle rhymes
are my forte,
raised on Pound
& Belafonte,

succoured on Yates
& then Bukowski,
slept with earphones
tuned to Count Brodski,

the other kids
they loved me so,
for all the places
my rhymin'
dared to go,

taunting teachers,
mocking dads,
laughing at those
silly fads,

& in the playground
I would rap,
my friend Nigel
doing taps,

& as I stepped down
from the bus,
boys would cheer
& shout & fuss,

Rhyme us!
Hit us!
1, 2, 3 ...

Martin's here
all fancy free.

There's more honesty
in the dance
of the
Hare Krishna's
than in the
whole recorded
unexpurgated
output
of that shallow
vicious
son of a gun
Rush Limbaugh.

There's more honesty
in the Indian practice
of cleaning
your ***
with water
than there is
in the fearful
paranoid
lunacies
of that *******
Wayne Lapierre.

There's more honesty
in the corridors
of the insane asylum
just west
of town
than from the chattering
smart suited
short-skirted
well combed
anchors
of that
infamous TV station
for 68 year old
and upward
aging
white men.

There's more honesty
in the chirrup
of a cricket
or the crows
caw
than in the
dismal distractions
of this
chattering culture,
which daily
deceive
&
distract
us,

oh yes.

We're told Trump supporters
too are a varied hew of rainbow
shades & various kinds of light
& dark,

but Trump Rallies & protests
& adorations are almost utterly
completely without a doubt
white folks.

White folks with head-scarves & t-shirts,
the plump middle-aged,
some bitter young boys,
'Build that Wall' & 'Deport" signs
carried by stocky menacing
biker lookalikes
with wrap-around shades.

lots of blondes,
chubby rural mamas,
Confederates, Supremacists,
the lady from the bank,
Mrs. Blow from San Antonio,

White folks ...
they just a keep a comin'
carryin' those signs,
wearing that awful red hat,
waving very small
US flags
in their hopeful
loyal & foolish
hands.

Broken ...
vital parts not working
too well,
running o.k. to keep going
but missing ...
just missing ...
a certain something,

everyone else has it,
being born you should
have it,
wheeled straight out
into the world
all shiny & new
& its there,
its there,

but damage affects,
wears down natural
turning of cogs &
wheels,
what should be normal
turns to left
or right,
smooth-running
& all & such,

broken ...
& in the end
some just cannot,
come what may,
try how hard,
be fixed,

returned to vitality
& the identity
of those first innocent
& natural days.

Broken.

For the sake of a spherical
leather football & pride &
power & vanity,

for an ultimately absurd
game of running here
charging there,
& brute force,
touch this
& down that,

all morality ceased,
all those who knew
kept silent ...

all those who could have
helped before more
were hurt
chose not to,

for the sake of pride, power
& vanity,
& a shiny leather ball thrown
around to produce numbers
on a scoreboard.

May you all be cursed till the end
of days & may whatever God in
whichever Heaven or Hell rain
down swift, merciless & unrelenting
judgement.

******* you Penn State.

Young Donald got some
play-time yesterday when
some big grown men
stopped by & let him
sit in the drivers seat
of their big, big truck,
& he even got to toot
the big, big horn,

oh was Donald pleased,

but they cut short the
visit as he was getting
a little too rambunctious
& the big men had to
go back to working
for a living,

Donald needed a little
quiet time in the White
House & some milk &
cookies to calm down,

but oh what an exciting
time he had didn't he!

and the rain pours down
and the people are wretched,
the odds,
oh, the odds!

and a far trumpet announces
and they come
in their elegant cloaks,
their helmets,
their sandals,

each with a bow,
a quiver
of arrows,
and their leader
is regal,
blonde hair
combed tumbling
back,

& We have come
to help the
world of Men
he says
with a smile,

this Elric-like
warrior,
this so, so
appreciated
defender,
who later
will fall
all staggering
from blows,

& with a stamp
of their feet
they all about turn,
androgynous,
similar,
passive,

& they line
the walls
quiet
in the pouring rain,
& the hell beasts
attack
& their arrows
fly & fly
again,

but eventually
all will die
but
they have chosen
their side,

did what they
could ...
acted.

Sweet, sweet tea of the morning
& a glass of old-style
Kool-Aid I insist
cos its summer
& we'll need it,

& then we stroll on out
down Main Street
& over the bridge
just past the station
to the old
Baptist Church,

where I suggest
we rest awhile
just to take
the weight off
our feet,

& we sit all
relaxed & resting
& there's a
slight discomfort,
I can feel it,

oh relax I say
just enjoy
the quiet,

& I feel it myself,
the waves,
the shimmering

& the colors
from the glass windows
shine so brightly
& we talk
so objectively
about this,
all logic
& such,

but then it hits
& you all get nervous
& wonder what
is happening,

& I confess
to the plan
& say just
go with it,
go with it,
all will be well,

& light talk goes on
all thought & surmise
& the figure so sweet
all compassion
& sacrifice
grabs hold
& we still chat
but slowly,
slowly,

& Look at the Windows
I say,
& we gaze so
way up there
and the jeweled
light cascades
all reds,
yellows,
blues,

& from inside
after the chit-chat ebbs,
comes flowing
the grace
& the love
& the power

& the Divine
is with us now,
right here
from us
right now,

& we weep
& God is Love,
& we weep,
& we weep

I carry the void
in my pocket,
its always
right there
that I know,

once I thought
I'd lost it
after getting
so very, very
loaded at a lovely
nearby  bar,

but making tea
the next day
I found it
right back
where it
usually
is,

even the laundry
seems not to
phase it,

it just seems
to jump &
bounce around
& then cleverly
a clean shirt
later, well ha!
there it is.

Real good parties
seem to affect it,
I dig around
& dig around,
yet cannot,
cannot find it,
it might just be
a short-term memory
thing though,

because later,
well, heck,
there it is,
and so
I wonder
oh my
was it there
all the time?

Jimi moans and wails,
the door crashes
as dad arrives
all anger
& growls,

I look up
all a might stunned
beneath the grinning
& rolling,

oh dad
you made it,
& I love you
y'know.

my eyes
like dark voids ...
searchlights,

his face ...
bewildered.

The rich get it good
oh yes they do ...
they don't send their
boys to die in foreign
wars that are usually
being fought in response
to some pressing $ value
for them & their friends
despite all the lies &
justifications coming
your way,


& they own the tv folks
that you & your buddies
absorb & who tell you of
a world that they wish
you to see & by design
also teaches of how others
are coming for you & you
are best off by voting
for another very rich man
who obviously can best
represent your interests
... quite obviously,

& having fooled you into
believing basic compassion
is communist in nature &
that really its every man
for himself in this vicious
world & that coal is good,
& climate change is cooked
up by the biased intelligentsia,
they can continue their base
pursuits & just keep on raking
it in,

& continually stressing that
anyone from this shining city
on a hill can make it big-time
like Riche Rich ignoring of course
basic facts such as class & race
or where you were born & into
which family of what colored
skin they have again succeeded
in their narrative of oh good
god how wonderful are we!
& lets just a keep on with the
way it is cos there's no alternative
really & any its close to Maoism,

& whilst all this is going on
they manage quite stealthily
in a way but perhaps also in
that great American tradition
of the sly feelgood huckster
they get you all seeing Jesus
through a salesman's eyes
as if Christianity was negotiable
in trade-offs & reservations &
justifications for bigotry, bias,
profit & shallow mercantile just
plain someone else making
a buck of you all,

& rich people get the best of
everything don't they really,
schools, hospitals, retirement
plans, all of which they fool you
into voting to cut, cut, cut,
which leaves you poorer folks
worse off & those rich folks
with just more gold coins to add
to their piles in off-shore accounts,
fancy real estate, & investment
portfolios,

its all pretty simple really,
they pretty much own
your *** & you keep
on a handing it
to them
don't you.

Trump sure knows how to
share the sacrifices,
spread that butter a little thin
on his own toast,
as say ...
when he weekends
at Mar-a-Lago,

that opulent palace-like estate
with its Flemish tapestries,
lavish oriental rugs,
& a Louis XIV-style ballroom,
with $7 million in gold leaf
on the walls,

one-more-time ...
$7 million in gold-leaf
on the walls,

& it is here that he relaxes
every weekend
this Sun-King of ours,
this Oriental Potentate,
this Pasha in crushed velvet,

the cost of these jolly
jaunts is $4 million
each weekend,
oh … & there’s $4
million a month for
Melania & Barron too,

poor young Barron,
who one does
feel for
in a way.

So … at the risk
of sounding like
an early 20th century
Bolshevik & drawing
attention to inequalities
& injustices & wealth
& rank luxury at the
very time when hungry
& lonesome old folks
are to be deprived
of basic nourishment,

I'll say:
"The revolution is not
an apple that falls
when it is ripe.
You have to make
it fall."

“We’ve been dreaming of this since
you and I were drinking out of a keg.”

Oh how sweet it must be,
how sweet the moment,
as it finally arrives,
oh so breathlessly,
so eagerly
anticipated.

This idea whose first
beautiful dawning
came as a bunch of
youthful, oh so youthful
& ambitious conservative
white boys shared some
beers together Saturday night

& dreamed
that one day,
one day,
poor folks would be
kicked off Medicare
... oh how sweet it is ...
the realized ambitions of eager
& principled youth.

Kind of the same passion as the last priest hung
by the guts of the last capitalist only a touch less
ruthless & surely with a bare-breasted damsel
waving a black flag so high,

kind of a storming of the Tower by the raging mob
of whom a few have fallen 'neath the clubs & guns
of security but like warrior ants crossing a flowing stream
merely give themselves for the all to gain entrance,

kind of a pillaging of said tower with luxury furnishings
all sashaying upon gaudy, liquid thighs, gold this & gold
that all crowbarred & levered just right on out of there
to turn up all in bits & pieces at the 42nd St. Pawn Store,

kind of loading of the treadmill with those false narrative
propagandists for an old-fashioned milling of the poor
folks flour, grinding of the pulp, & a pounding of the fiber
for a deserved clothing of the cold & fragile,

kind of a revolution of justice, elemental & deeply satisfying,
of an ideal revenge, a reckoning, a pitiless, near merciless settling
of accounts with the poisoners, the exploiters, the fork-tongued
liars, the cheats, the merchants of a slow, silent death,

kind of a joyous, rapturous end-of-the-war drinking & embracing
moment of pure contentment & sense that actually all is well
in the world & that good does eventually overcome & that the
meek shall inherit one day & that come what may in the end
there will be an ecstatic blossoming roar of sweet & ultimate
victory.

Meals on Wheels
costs about $7 a day
& an administration
that would deprive its
elderly, home-bound
& perhaps blind citizens
of simple sustenance
because they say “there’s
no proven results” or
a “waste of your money”
has to my mind lost
all sense of basic moral
decency & deserves
no less than our complete
scorn & utter contempt.

Can I say it any louder!

& a president who can
sit down to his steak
dinner with prawn hors
d'oeuvres having signed
off on such a callous &
inhumane proposal while
mentally ticking off the
money he's put in the bank
today should be removed
from office by any means
necessary & ideally
today.

Can I say it any clearer!

There’s 2 regular Trump apologists
out in the chattering classes these dark
depressing days Paris Dennard & the lighter
skinned & white-quiffed Jeffrey Lord, both are
utterly intolerable to spend too much time with
both accepting no, quite literally no wrong-doing,
on the part of their sweet master Trump,

Paris has his gig I guess as the black guy
brought on to be the black Republican who
will defend Trump so the folks back home
can say: “See” …
& he is a smartly dressed dude, plays it well
I guess but jeez your boss isn’t infallible Paris,

& Jeffrey lord, oh god Jeffrey Lord …
where to start, well he’s usually bringing in
comparisons & history points from early
20th century speeches & such, while
actually ignoring the real issue & so he’s
good at what he does I’ll give him that,

I heard that he wrote a column praising Trump
early in the election & Trump called him to wax
magnificent & boy was Jeffrey chuffed & all
& thus has been so dedicated & loyal,

& since then he’s pretzeled himself so far
over to kiss his own heels & ends up the
lone Trump voice in every single discussion,
& nothing, absolutely nothing is questioned
or fault acknowledged.

Its a tough job but someone’s got to do it I
guess, but god these folks disgust.

Jose Escobar, 31
Deported: 2 March, from Houston, Texas

Jose Escobar, from El Salvador,
has a son, Walter, & a wife
Rose Marie Ascencio-Escobar,
a U.S. citizen,
now home alone
in South Houston,

Jose Escobar moved to the US legally
from El Salvador with his mother
when he was 15,
and both qualified
for protected status.

His mother erred in filing
renewal paperwork when he
was still a teenager,
his protected status lapsed.

Mr Escobar spent years trying to
sort out  his status and received
a stay of deportation
from a judge in 2012.

But with Trump  
the deportation process
started up again
& he was detained
at his check-in with Ice
& flown to San Salvador.

His family is devastated.

"I'm begging President Donald Trump to look
into my case and see if my husband is really
destroying America,"
his wife told reporters.

The Dalai Lama may not approve
with my pinching the Pure Diamond
phrase which is of course usually
in reference to some Buddhist moment
of utter clarity & profound insight,

but that's as close as I can get in reference
to Our Illustrious Leader and his need to sit
on a golden crapper in his opulent & dazzling
suite overlooking Manhattan & oh so high in
the blue, blue sky,

because when I hear of Meals on Wheels cuts
& After School Program loss in West Virginia
& the myriad other ways counters have
found to save a few bucks at the same time
as they reduce taxes on the very rich,

the fact that he does sit on a golden crapper
becomes perhaps a lightning rod for all that
is wrong with Republican ideology & its talk
of cost effect & proven results in regard to
a simple feeding of a hungry person,

its not rocket science or flying to the moon
its a simple social program that helps older
folks & small children get through the day

& a government that talks of building a billion
dollar wall, building more planes & warships
led by a man who desires a golden crapper,

just plain fills me with a Pure Diamond Loathing.

Meals on Wheels feeds needy
old folks & house-bounds,
its not some sort of luxury blue-apron
celebrity-chef at your door in minutes
creme-de-brule & lobster fricasee,

its basic nutritious food that many needy
folks depend on to help them get through
each day,

but Trump & his Republicans have decided this
is, what, a luxury that promotes dependency,
an unnecessary largesse on the part of a near
socialist dictatorship,

that bringing food to the needy is just way, way
too beyond the financial abilities of the mighty
U.S of A,

but of course there's a billion dollar wall to be built
to hold back brown people,
there's more tanks, bigger ships, fancier airplanes,
oh & what ... Mar-A-Lago golf trips to pay for,

& security for every Trump spawn out there
rock & rollin' their way around the world making
money & just a makin' more money,

& once more I say unto you,
the fact this man feels the need to ****
in a golden crapper fills me with such a
sincere & deep loathing that at times I can
barely sleep.

Feed the Needy!

Of course it’s a Muslim Ban when Muslim
countries are affected & 1.5 billion folks
perceive it to be so, & you'd recently called
Giulani to ask "Muslim Ban, how can I do it?"

& of course it’s mocking the disabled
when you pull your arms to your waist
& wave your wrists & use a shaky
trembling voice while looking skyward,

& of course when you talked about the “Second
Amendment People” taking out Hillary Clinton
if she won you were talking an assassination
threat, the words are there aren’t they,

& of course it was unforgivable & beyond,
just beyond the pale where you tried to
deflect the criticism of the grieving Khan
family by insulting the silent mother from
your glorious podium,

& of course when you quipped “It’s freezing
& snowing in New York, we need global warming”
you were laying bare the intellectual wasteland
that is your mind & the threadbare grasp on vital
realities that is your worldview,

& of course when you talked of “fairly credible
sources” telling you of "Obama’s birth certificate
being a fraud" you were simply making **** up
in your fraudulent salesman mode but this time
were in way too deep by promoting this vicious
ethically void racist *******,

& of course when you said “you can never be too
greedy” you mean it with your gold crapper in
your gold bathroom, & your gold stroller, for your
golden progeny, & your huge this, & so big that,

& of course when you said of 9/11 that in Jersey
“thousands of people were cheering” you were
lying your *** off & appealing to the basest
elements of human nature of anger, revenge
& blame,

& of course when you declined to condemn David
Duke & the KKK you knew exactly what you were doing
as you put forth the trembling hand of friendship to American
White Supremacists so’s you'd let them know you were one
of them & they could count on you & please vote for me, you
were planting that evil & sordid flag weren’t you,

& of course you are unfit to govern, lack a basic intelligence,
decency, spirituality, a grasp of fundamental principles of right
& wrong, & are a con-man, a spiv, a snake-oil salesman, all
these … of course you are … & we’re stuck with you.

It's over, its done ...

American Christianity stumbles forward
toward a cruel topsy-turvy world where
help is weakness, compassion is cruelty
& divisive isolation is preferable to
welcome & concern.

American Christianity is a corpse that reeks,

a veritable Walking Dead of pink-tied
Conservatism that picks its leaders
based on a sort of simple country-boy
belief that a fat white man in a suit who
holds aloft his momma's old bible while
same the same time preaching division,
exclusiveness, hate & bigotry is somehow
the best Christian choice & God loves that
man so,

they do this,

they continue to do this,

this rural fundamental upside-down way
of seeing the worst man as the best man
just because he spouts for some phrases
& gets all blessed & such by richly dressed
ministers of the lord who anoint him as the
Chosen One, which is so far off the mark
as to leave one wondering who? who?
who are these representatives of God's
word on earth,

these shiny shoe lackeys, these fork-tongued
well-heeled sybarites closer to Lucifer's
world of consumption & the almighty dollar,

American Christianity should just call it
a day, just give over for awhile, take a
breather & read a book or two, for the
harm they cause to fall on the rest of
us through their ignorant vision is just
way, way too much for them to be able
to claim any affinity with Jesus
the humble Son of God.

I'd prefer my politicians
didn't belly laugh, chuckle
or gosh gee shucks after
proposing to deprive 24
million folks of health care
especially of course when
along with that they've
suggested huge tax benefits
for the already rich,

& I'd really prefer my politicians
to be like the president in
Uruguay who drove an old
jalopy & lived in a shack but
I guess I'm just too much of a
dreamer aren't I & for lords sake
how naive can I be?

So good with the ethics,
the caring, considerate, oh so
compassionate Christian way
of getting things done ...

the looking out for the needy,
the helping the helpless,
the following the words of
their saviour thing they've
got going on here,

its curious to say the least or just
simply stone cold hypocritical
how the political party
most mouthing out
the words of God,
most concerned with
prayers & such,

seems quite comfortable
if not , well almost gleeful,
at the prospect of a tougher,
harder life for the elderly,
the sick,
the impoverished.

Have they read the same Jesus texts as me?
Sermon on the Mount lets say,
& how is your Christianity weighed
I wonder?
God helps those who help themselves?
God pays back those who pay the preacher?
God doesn't really believe in the very idea
of 'help' in any form whatsoever?

What give Republicans?

Once more I ask this fundamental question.

Republicans, are you human?

Somebody Else's Babies ... or a poem for Steve King a Republican
Representative of our esteemed governing classes who recently
came along with another jaw-dropping piece of White Supremacist
******* ...

'Somebody else's babies'
grew up in this green &
pleasant land to go on to
fight & die in the American
War in Vietnam, & the two
unforgivable invasions of Iraq,

which is far more than you
did Steve King,
you draft-dodging,
tough-talking patriot you,

so when you next wake up
calling out 'our destiny' maybe
you'd like to visit some graveyards
& pay some respect,
you empty-headed
Republican fool,

oh & glance back through history
awhile & even cheat a bit by using
google quotes & get some sense
of who else in the history of the
20th century crowed about
'our destiny' ... you malignant
fascist you.

Calling it today!

ha! yes!
sure as heck I'm not exactly
jumping for joy in these end
days of dying planetary life,
threatened existences, starving
homeless 5 year old Mustafa's,
engaged Supremacists, murdered
black boys, hillbilly junkies, fading
healthcare, America First & talk
of 'our destiny' & ******* such,

but what am I to do?
Watch Star Trek re-runs & eat ice-cream?
America calls out to be noticed,
& heck what else can we do
but pay attention.

If you wish the sympathy
of the broad masses, you
must tell them the crudest
& most stupid things,

& it is quite a special secret
pleasure how the people
around us fail to realize
what is really
happening to them,

& make the lie big,
make it simple,
keep saying it,
and eventually
they will
believe it.

& all propaganda must be
popular and its intellectual
level must be adjusted to
the most limited intelligence
amongst those it is
addressed to,

& history comes around
& many of the tried &
trusted methods for
running things just
keep on making
that eternal return
don't they.

Just seeing that dumb red hat
gives me the Heebeejeebees,
the Holy Camoleys,
I get the *******,
the John B. Scrotes,
I feel Ben Carsoned,

as if I've been Rogered in my sleep
by Quasimodo & then been forced
to pleasure the Seven Dwarfs,

I have the shivers,
I plead repugnance,
I share the odium,

I experience that near frenzied disgust
as left by a cold slug traversing one's
naked arm in the dank moonlight,

when that oh so ridiculous red tractor
hat is worn by men who have
chauffeurs & bejeweled
golf carts,
& look like a fat cat's fantasy
of a fat cat,

to Make America Great Again for that matter
maybe you have to go as far back as Sitting Bull,
Red Cloud, the Shawnee, herds of bison,
counting coup, & eagle-feather headdresses,

Making America Great Again does not in any
way involve Leroy from the hills feeling better
about his race or Donald J. Trump coming
forth as some sort of Poor Man's Moses.

I hate that stupid hat!

Just because I think it would be a beautiful
idea if Trump & Bannon could be strapped
down in a Rocket aimed for the outer
reaches of the infinite starry galaxies
doesn't mean I wish them gone,

& just because I'd love to see Julian Assange
work the mines in the deepest bowels of
the high Ecuadorian mountains
doesn't mean I wish him ill,

& just because I'd be so satisfied by Mitch McConnell
pimped out on a Detroit street in mid-winter
while his man keeps an eye-out from a
warm & very smooth cadillac nearby
doesn't mean I wish him a tough evening,

& just because I'd be real chuffed to see Paul Ryan
in all his 'What Me Worry' shallow smile
earnest do-gooder front be flown to Calcutta
as shock-therapy & made to clean the wounds
of leprous beggars,
doesn't mean I'm sensing justice,

& just because I really am down with that oh so
sincerely evil David Duke being forced to perform
street cleaning duties in darkest Baltimore
doesn't men I'm feeling righteous,

& just because I'm very, very o.k. with the idea &
then the actual practice of some sort of natural
justice doesn't mean I'm being unrealistic,
a dreamer, or need to relax awhile.

These are my dreams folks.

Do we really think they care?
Trump voters that is,
about shady Russian ties to dark oligarchs
& billion ruble deals,
conflicts of interest,
ties made in China,
family business entanglements?

day after day of golf,
Mar A Largo Winter White House hustle,
enormous Secret Service bills as the
Trumps are scattered here, there
and it seems everywhere,

dicey handshakes,
White Supremacists in the White House,
the American Constitution,
Legal niceties such as checks
& balances,
day after day
lies about this,
& lies about that?

hypocrisies & shallow
empty throw-aways
at the African American
Museum,
Sean 'Fool me two times' Spicer,
media bans,
EPA anti-science,
utterly insane
nuclear pronouncements?

a huge, very huge
military budget,
some backtracking
on the wall,
word salad Muslim ban
justifications?

an overweight, ignorant
orange-faced hustler
just counting those
dollar bills as
he rakes
them in?

Do we really think
they care?

I think not because
well first off
at least now there isn't
a black, Kenyan, Islamist
Marxist running things,

we can all be so thankful
for that,

& all the other stuff
just seems by the way
in comparison.

If you will **** my soul,
I will lick your funky emotions.

Hey baby … what’s your thing?
What say we touch each other?
Oooh yeah … fly on … fly on …

Oh such sweet sounds,
such goodness
such …
uh huh … oooohhh yeah,
Lord ….

& the band plays …
boom boom boom boom ba boom

& the bass rolls on,
feel that baby?
let me kiss your mind.

& the ladies sing …
bah bah bah bah bah

& the drum snares on,
the ladies return,

oh Mommy what's a Funkadelic? ...
I do so love this song.

It helped me a lot
this dark
& just plain wicked day.

'An inquiry examining institutional *** abuse in Australia has heard 7% of the nation's Catholic priests allegedly abused children between 1950 and 2010.'

Can the bricks from all the churches
create orphanages,

can the cloth from all the robes
warm the freezing,

can the wine from all the altars
cheer the helpless,

can the jewels from all the crosses
fund the starving,

can the gold from all the goblets
ease the suffering,

can the wood from all the pulpits
house the homeless,

can the glass from all the windows
frame the darkness,

can the bones from all the priests
fertilize the fields,

can the pain from all the suffering
be acknowledged,

can the tears from all the children
be as witness,

can the crimes of all the clergy
be always remembered,

can the church in all its guilt
be just obliterated.

For a brief ...
so, so brief ...

a tiny sliver
of a moment
this early
Monday
morn,

young Gianni Rage
considered a,
how shall I put it ...
less ruthless,
less uncompromising,
less just plain truthful,
critique of our
oh so esteemed
Great Leader,

but then that
faint & distant murmur
at the far, far edge of his heart
was quickly silenced,
as he recalled
dying Syrian children,
emboldened White Supremacists,
fearful crop-workers,
deeply nervous Muslims,
irremediably insulted
black folks,

& his pen became
his sword once
more & all
was right
once again
with the world.

Gianni Rage is a wordsmith on FB, pay a visit why not.

He's all smirking with his
secrets that he knows &
we don't but he's going
to bless us with their
presence as if the ****
he's all Wikileaking
wasn't already guessed
at & yes, thanks Assange
for helping elect Trump
you Libetarian-crypto-fascist
you,

with your all-knowing
Liberal airs that have just
helped make the world
worse in actual objective
fact,

well the CIA watch us all!
heck thats news to me,
not as if I didn't know
that as a 14 year old in
England 46 years ago.

& so when you sit in your
comfy chair in your
Embassy exile please
remember that I cannot
for the life of me fathom
how helping elect Trump
is in any way a good thing,

to hell with you Julian Assange,
you pompous self-important
rat.

Trump has overseas businesses
& assures us he has no conflicts
here, there & everywhere ...

Oh well sure,
we're reassured that he won't
actually be using every angle,
turning every corner, fine-tuning
every legality to bring those dollars
rolling in ...

just as he did with Trump University,
his pitiful bottled water & steak props
at his 'news' conference, his ties made
in China, his Mar A Lago Winter White
House operation, his Trump jet rentals,
your seats next to the President-elect for
close to a cool million ...

his Paul Manafort with his Ukraine deals,
his numerous go-fers all bouncing around
from here to Moscow, his secret deals we'll
all soon know about, his money laundering
Azerbaijan hotel racket, his red ******* hats,
all your Trump makin' a buck wheelin' & dealin'
that continues as we speak ...

& the hell of it is all the poor schmucks who think
you're Daddy Bigbucks & would love the chance
to one day make it just as you, all gold this & big
that & pomp & privilege & trickle-down & *****
the little man, the brown man, the other man &
yes by Jesus he's the man to get it done,
he speaks our language,
feels our pain ...

the only language he speaks is monetary,
the only values he has are green-backed, the only
everyman he looks out for is the mark he's about
to take in Donald Trump's corner store 3 card monte.

Trump sure loves his money, & thanks you all for
this great opportunity to use the Presidency of this
here United States to just plain rake it in like a
chubby, orange Scrooge McDuck in his golden,
tingling, vast & filling basement.

So he's back ...
George 'Second Iraq
Massacre' Bush,

& I was wondering if or when
it would actually happen
this rising from the foggy
miasma of retirement,

& you do question whether
there's a publicist or it
was discussed around
the family table,
"Well .. its been 8 years now,"
"Is it time yet?"

& apart from a truly puzzling
dancing & swaying appearance
at a black-suit memorial where
he grabbed Michelle's hand &
looked more like a 5 year old
at a birthday party,
well, he's been very quiet,

but of course we've also
been granted the opportunity
to view his oh so charming
paintings,

to see him at work in his studio,
producing dog portraits & simple
naive sincerely primitive famous
people faces akin to art-day at the
old-folks home or a pre-school
honors wall,

& it seems no one wanted his opinion
on anything at all these last years,
but now, oh now he's with us again,
all bashful & "aw shucks" when he's
asked by some obsequious host
about his fondness for Michelle,
& becoming near front-page news
after a mild rebuke of Trump,

& no doubt soon he'll be on Late Night
& such, where Jimmy Kimmel can rustle
his hair & be all smitten & oh so grateful
for the privilege of his company,
& perhaps when Kimmel does chuckle
so sweetly at their dazzling repartee
that night someone could shout out
from the audience ... "Remember the
War Dead",

for its seems America soon forgives
& forgets & its war criminals &
Oliver North & George W. Bush
are allowed to grin & pontificate
& nothing is remembered & isn't
he just aging so well & don't we
just hang on every word & oh
how he matters still.

Next week maybe Kissinger will
come on to entertain us awhile,
sandwiched between cute pet
tricks & some giggling 20 year old
Hollywood starlet hawking her
new blockbuster.

America forgets very, very quickly
doesn't it,
so so quickly.

You may all think Matthew is perhaps up all
night reading Das Capital for fun
& spending odd days in his chair
pondering class relations in
late 21st century Capitalism,

or just plain transfixed by newsreels,
earnest learned scholars,
smiling breezy interviewers,
fooled or entertained
by an opinion about
this, a diversion about
that,

& that Matthew sits hunched
over a computer screen
fuming at life's repugnancies,
odious & loathsome actors
in the Politics Game,
desperately berating liars,
despising sycophants, cursing
till the end of days the evil-doers,
ill-wishers, & apologists,

that Matthew in pure Bolshevik-
style takes no prisoners, accepts
no quarter, tidies up after the revolution
by filling shallow graves with the still
warm corpses of the enemies of the people,

well, actually you'd be on the right track
in some ways to be perfectly honest
but still ...

Matthew loves a good soccer game, caramel
ice cream, bananas, bacon sandwiches,
watching pelicans at the lake,
children playing,
old folks chilling ...

he's not really some kind of Iron Man of the
People all Medalled with the Order of
Proletariat First Class ...
fanatic, without humor, obsessed,
despairing & fuming & just plain
at his wits end,

he actually has faith & can take a step
back & curse the fool while enjoying
the wind upon his face,

Matthew loves the play but hates the
lead actors & in the Old English
tradition shouts out from the stalls
"Look out behind you!" as he takes
a lick from his sweet vanilla cornet.

Come on down
right on down now,
a brand new car,
deluxe washer dryer
brand spankin' new
& all ready to go,
spin that wheel,
turn that square,
answer that question
& gamble that dollar,
Donald J. Trump
has come to town,

the Dealmaker
the Best of the Best,
the All American
gettin' it done
wise & wicked
grinnin' fat cat,
who'll somehow
keep an eye out
for all you smaller
folks as he swings
those roundabouts,
& crosses those t's
& cashes his chips,

Donald J. Trump
will make that dollar,
dig that coal &
bury that pipeline,
negotiate that better
ditch that failure,
scrap that law,
watch out for
that business
& surely curb
those watchdogs,

& money will be
made but not by
you or I or Shirl
or Bob but those oh so
connected & Sheldon's
& Coke Brother's &
Investors & Directors
& Oligarchs & Overseas
Accounts & the select
few who always,
always, seem to
do just fine,

& the pitiful irony
if you will of all
this Making Great
Again & victory
for the Little Man
is that the little
man cast his lot
with someone
who never gave
the slightest ****
& Earl & Nancy
once more get
the short stick,
the bad apple,
the *******
without
the prize,
the pathetic hat
& the broken
soon faded whistle.

"They too had a dream that
one day their sons, daughters,
grandsons, granddaughters ...
might pursue prosperity &
happiness in this land."

Well perhaps not Ben ...
perhaps while 10% of their
chained compatriots died around
them in the dark, ****-filled hull
of this heaving slave-ship they
may well have dreamt of home,
of family, of safety, warmth, of
the basic human right to dignity
& freedom & an ability to simply
walk through life going upon
one's business without the threat
of armed traders carting you off
to other lands ...
perhaps they dreamt of that,

& perhaps upon arrival & unloading
& a brutal harsh sunlight & a reckoning
of those you knew who'd died & been
thrown to the sharks & an examining
of teeth & body as a horse at trade
while upon a block as folks whiter
than you shouted out in strange
tongues & your wife & child were
elsewhere & your whole life was at
that moment in cruel & tragic collapse,
you might have thought of other things
rather than ...
Oh lord, yes, yes, one day I'm going
to be able to make a buck in this Land
of the Free and Home of the Brave ...

Leslie Howard
as the Scarlet Pimpernel
is a pure joy
to watch,
all big-collared foppish
tight-trousered dandy
& dainty eyeglass
peering,

& there’s scheming
from the glum & slightly
hunch-backed Robespierre,
weeping aristocrats,
in tumbrils,
& innocent playing
children,

oh so-tailored families
all huge-coiffured hair,
cravats & handkerchiefs
& cocky young jackanapes
playing chess,

the cheering crowds
all coarse & ugly,
with knitting bonneted-crones
anticipating as the drums roll,
& the blade falls,
to a mighty
cheer,

we can see
our own bewitching
Marie Antoinette,
our own sly & whispering
Rasputin,
our gold-folly Sun King,

but I cannot say
I want Madame
La Guillotine
to be set up,
in the square
this time,
no …
no that,

but a victorious
cheering mob,
does sometimes
haunt my dreams,
I confess
to say.

“I send them to the guillotine for the future happiness of the human race, but I do not allow torture.”

Robespierre

Old folks weep with joy
as bright lanterns  
burn in windows,
marching bands play
all parading through
riotous city streets,
all gaiety, happiness
& laughter,

bold children alongside
in sweet & delirious
dancing shuffle,
all red, green & gold
ribbons & flags
of deliberate
& riotous color,

flowers will adorn,
roses in bright bunches,
yellow daffodils from
fields so bright,
carnations, lilies & marigolds,
incandescent magnolias,
star-bright & fragrant
blooms & blossoms
of gathered offerings
& joyous gift,

lone wolves will pack
& cry into the nighttime
vibrating wilderness,
great eagles will gather
above great tall trees
screaming aloud
their existence
this blessed
morn,

sons & daughters
will proclaim the day,
all finery, jeweled & golden,
arms dancing aloft
strong, handsome &
proudly adorned
this sweet
sweet eve.

Come the day,
Oh Come the day.

The Republican Party's moral
center is proving hard to find
these days with some saying
its similar to El Dorado or Noah's
original Ark which means actually
not there at all & nowhere to be
found really just a dark echoing void
of pure unadulterated starless blackness
at the very centre of an infinite depth of total
& absolute & echoing despairing well of utter
pitiless heartless opportunist depravity much like
a starving hyena coming upon a lonely dying lamb.

Or words to that effect.

“That’s what America is about,” Carson said. “A land of dreams and opportunity. There were other immigrants who came here in the bottom of slave ships, worked even longer, even harder for less."

Ben Carson is a might confusing
because he is without a doubt
a brilliant brain surgeon
& yet,
& yet ...

according to him
he communes telepathically
with wild bears,
can calm armed-robbers,
stabbed his best friend,
& now sees slavery as
some sort of Welcome
To the Land of Liberty
All are Welcome Act.

Ben Carson is an idiot
because well ...
where to start,
well how's about millions
of folks forced to board
ships naked, afraid,
chained in rows,
as SLAVES,

& yes, half of all slave infants
died in the first year,
survivors lived on a basic
nutrition-free gruel,
there was diarrhea, dysentery,
whooping cough, blindness,
skin lesions &
convulsions,
& they were
SLAVES.

but to Dr. Ben Carson
these terrified, beaten,
chained, whipped,
SLAVES ...

were immigrants
just like you
and just like me.

Sure as heck wouldn't fall
for that "Oh its my favourite
book & I keep it by my bedside
trick" & gather chubby Christian
flunkeys to pray over & anoint
a fascist idiot child,

Would see right through using
a grieving widow as a prop for
a photo-shoot extravaganza,
& then talk of record applause
lines like this was America's
Most Talented & he was a cheap
*** promoter milking the crowd,

Wouldn't for a second fall for
the Syrian children carry an
infection to the nation & must
be denied entry because you
never know but of course we can
because deranged white folks are
more of a threat,

Sure as **** could tell the difference
between a good apostle & that
scheming White Supremacist
Bannon & the bald dude who
endlessly talks of his overlord
being obeyed or **** sure you'll
all be for it,

Would most definitely not need
a golden crapper to rest his fat
white *** on & a golden stroller
for his special one & lacquered
mirrored sitting room that looks
like a hillbilly wet-dream version of
of 'how rich folks dun live rightly,'

Would most definitely not be seen
wearing that stupid red hat which
more than hints at a long gone
world with shades of whiteness
& exclusion & don't come knocking
on my door you pitiful wretch you,

Would never in a million friggin'
years have voted Republican &
sided with a lying, duplicitous
con-man with all the shades of
darkness that usually are reserved
for the actual Fallen Angels.

Hmmnn ... lets see,
how about a simple disgust
at opulent luxury,
... there's a start,

oh ... & many roomed massive mansions
with heliports & tennis-courts,
that too perhaps you're
not down with,

& million dollar wedding rings &
3 million dollar nuptial feasts,
tiger medicines, rhinceros horns,
elephant foot ash-trays &
private zoos with leopards
for the pleasure of the
near sated man who
needs everything,

& 5 million dollar automobiles,
pate, foie-gras, shark-fin soup,
gold faucets in your bathroom,
& gold seats for you to rest
your so sweet golden
*** on,

penthouse suites overlooking Harlem,
cigar-chomping industrialists loosening
their waistcoats after a heavy steak
dinner over which they've carved up
a portion of what is rightfully
others by birth & right,

hundreds of thousands of dollars
tickets for a seat by the boss,
so's you may get the chance
to whisper your pleadings
& caress his oh so mighty
ego,

pipelines across sacred lands,
Christian hypocrites, wealthy churches,
Catholic debauchery, Evangelical
preachers, replicas of Noah's Ark,
sweat lodge motivational hucksters,
Rolls Royce gurus,
ancient Southern hate
& men in white hoods,

taking a look around,
paying attention,
choosing,
& then signing up.

Did you see it?
That brother can do it
oh yes indeed he can,

like a young trout at dusk,
in a sweet still lake,
like a pouncing cheetah,
from many yards out,
like Wille May in the outfield,
for a soaring high ball,
like the most monstrous of great whites
rising from the dark depths & exploding
out of the ocean seal prey all clenched
in its merciless jaws,

like a cobra after transfixing its quietened mark,
like the most glorious of lithe pole vaulters,
like the most dandy of sweet young gymnasts,
like the great bull Magic Johnson springing over all & slam
dunkin' that rocketed ball as the whole court is helpless & the
people rock & its more points on that board,
that brother did it

just tore that Southern Hate right on out
of their White Pride hands,
brother just plain did it.

White Knights
like to dress up
all hooded & ****
with slit-eyes and
pointy tops
to their
sheet-thing

& they come out
when its real dark
& burn stuff
& parade all around
shadowed bonfire-lit
in secluded fields
like lost
& deluded
drooling idiots,

they think they
walk the walk
& feel real fine
& fancy
with their grand wizard
lord of this & that
& pathetic hokey redneck
power-tripping
*******,

but lord no!
white knights
ride no gallant steeds
possess no magic
potions
have nothing
but a desperation
born of impotence
& sullen
bitter & imagined
loss.

white folks grandeur!
oh spare me so,
from evil
in its many disguises
& from very real
& dangerous men
hood-less
brazen
& right there
in front of us.

The leopard ...
shining so brightly
as one of the earth's
truly
most truly ...
utterly beautiful
animal
creatures,

which here we see
held aloft,
stone dead,
after being hunted
by two of
the earth's
bravest ...
oh so brave
human beings,
the mighty ...
oh so mighty,
Trump
sons,

here smiling
& self-satisfied,
holding the body
for a picture,
this once living
breathing
& utterly
beautiful
creature,

In God's American heaven
all the Krishnas,
Ivans & Nadias,
get to wait in line
like sorry-*** out-of-towners
hoping for a good night out,

while the Americans,
granted extra
special consideration
by right of birth
& all that is great
& mighty about
this unique land,

just get waved on through
by God's golden bouncers,
straight on in
like hot girls
& dazzling boys
at the club
of the
moment
in the dazzling
L.A. night.