The country is ******.

No need to stand on ceremony,
eloquency can take a backseat,
because the country is
F. U. C. K-ed.

The innocence of  your youth yells,
as it is mashed between the ******, gritty, fingers of reality.
The faces that entertained the nation,
now assess success by how many kids they've touched,
rather than how many lives.

Parasitic politicians nesting on their mother,
'de-mock-****',
mocking the masses
with two digits raised,
pass it of as a V.
For victory.
But wash away the Crocodile smiles,
and it stands for something a little less inspiring.
Violence?
Victimizing?
Misers of moneyless citizens,
sitting in,
a generation of tiny Tims,
because the oligarchy hordes,
the power and our sense.

The problem is we allow it.
Yeah the country is ******.
But so are we...
"Yeah but what can we do?"

Well...

Now you're asking the right questions...

Dull death
Wreaking avenues
All faceless made of love's mess
An empty alley moneyless & hopeless
We all smell of crisp money
Lost dreams
&
Fortified compounds of false fornicating
Sweet kiss of gloom resting atop the moon
I hate poetry & every room that makes its presence a tomb
The golden loom of wicked holiness
Relinquishing only the faults yet not the sin's
And though the sky is grey cool forgiving
The mind is always reminding me of the ones who are winning
Dull death
Worn blacken robe
****** traps yet intellectuals still buff
Where there were laughs there are now
Hanging fish gaffs
Smothered in chocolate blood from
The finest hands of Eastern Italy
Bed sheets spread across her silken skin
Yet there is no place that words can even begin
And when one tries their efforts pour out in vain
For the sun and the moon and the rain clouds too
Were never meant to be written or burned down
Forsooth tis' true
Dull death
Your hair smells as if its been burnt
And my tired worked lungs lunge
Toward what our Brothers have created
And what your sister tried to keep sedated
Yet I know not what keeps your heart warm & tight
For the fright is alright until no one is there in your bed & in sight
Listen to the window it raps as if it is telling you
Where to go and your you should learn to get blue
So when your gale blows for no one but the soul of saint Clue'
Take your tarot cards because the claim is there with no one in sight to blame
Dull death
Dreaded prose
Dreaded symbology & repetition
A trap with no key
A box clamped shut by the hands of the Gods
Burning pages within cooling words
A river bed lined with the finest grapes
And the smoothest milk
Shifting in the sands of the old & the new
Pressing for an expansion that will not be there
Holding fast to a truth which shouts from the claps of the mob
Roman like & epic like
Playful, a blind child gripping the strings of a lying kite
Dull death
Forsaking cruel unforgiving relentless
Comforting death
I see your eyes for I stare right at you
The notes which chatter from your stained white teeth
Remind me of a tune my mother used to do
She sang it on Christmas
There was never a moment in my youth I could have missed it
Dear Death
Dear Mother
You are one and the same

(alternately titled: jump starter for clunky, *****,
quirky, xyz mechanic wanted in tow tow -
chassis what I mean?)

As the proud graduated
honorably rolled 2009 Hyundai
Sonata vehicular property
belonging to a mister
and missus Matthew Harris
(fifty shades of gray

if that makes any difference),
I experience nervous
rack and pinion quaking
shimmying, whining, and zipping
also twittering, shuttering,
linkedin kickstarting powertrain

even before chugging,
huffing, puffing, spewing...
like magic dragon along boulevard
of broken automotive debris
regarding upcoming
emission/inspection

due before stroke of midnight
August 31st, 2019
last year this time...
aye yie yie...
oil my pan, a major overhaul
comprising driver side suspension

engendered shock,
I...could not absorb
even now, yours truly strut er ers...,
and doth recoil scary undertaking
smattering of months thereafter,
(I wheely cannot engine ear

recalling exact amount of time)
what in the name of... car nation...
then... driver side rear brake assembly
required replacement
giving said owners run off
Golden Gate Bridge for their

newfound moneyless rendered situation
(ex post facto new battery got installed)
sorry to zap at greased lightning speed
and (mane lee) take lion's share
of social security electronic deposit,
(what with fuel tank filler ups,

and insurance - no matter
Nationwide always on my side)
understandable decent folks
would prefer to steer me
off cliff side, but
my dear friend SEPTA

doth not cam into hinterland
namely Schwenksville, Pennsylvania,
thus imposing prohibitive dollars
tooling them around
mainly medical appointments,
cuz at ten plus years old,

and odometer clicking away...
mechanical malfunction,
could diesel lee, axle dent tully
risk life and limb,
thus park my exhausted words
this fellow gas guzzling,

motoring, rotating tire
screeching hot rods...
ole clunker auto know,
but hates tappet cob Bosch,
and get cha piston off...,
but tread carefully,
and curry big stick shift.