Springtime for Fascism

those letters that form words
are cold,
frozen when they fill paper
or are spoken
with spittle and bitter sentences,
then are stiffly fold’d,
carried in pockets.
but when unfold’d and open’d
they shatter,
scatter,
melting on barren ground
nurturing
waiting angry weeds to flower
when Spring arrives.
~~~
such sweet flowers these
weeds bring forth.
their yellows, reds,
and orangish-blues
deceive us
with brightness
and poison’d hues
that turn a serene landscape
into chaotic violence,
sticky non-sense
and self deception.
cause it’s easier to fantasy escape
than act on real solutions.
~~~
but then america was
never great
and too many swoon illusion’d love
for those poisonous weeds
while bending over to show a moon
hoping not to get ****’d.

Aztec Warrior/redzone 7.21.16
note: the title of this poem is  
from the title of a play (Springtime for ******)
within the Broadway theatrical production, as well
as the movie called “The Producers”.