1.
From my
uneasy bed
at the L’Enfant,
a train's pensive
horn breaks the
sullen lullaby of
an HVAC’s hum;
interrupting the
mechanical
reverie of its
steadfast
night watch,
allowing my ear
to discern
the stampede
of marauding
corporate Visigoths
sacking the city.

The cacophony
of sloven gluttony,
the ***** songs of
unrequited privilege
and the unencumbered
clatter of radical
entitlement echoes
off the city’s cold
crumbling stones.

The unctuous
bellows of the
victorious pillagers
profanely feasting
pierces the
hanging chill
of the nations
black night.

Their hoots
deride the train
transporting
the defeated
ghosts of
Lincoln’s last
doomed regiments
dispatched in vain
to preserve a
peoples republic
in a futile last stand.

The rebels have
finally turned the tide,
T Boone Pickett’s
Charge succeeds,
sending the ravaged
Grand Army of the
Republic sliding
back to the Capitol,
in savage servility,
gliding on squeaky
ungreased wheels
ferrying the
Union’s dead
vanquished
defenders to
unmarked graves
on Potters Field.

The Rebels
joyous yell
bounces off
the inert granite
stones of the
soulless city.

The spittle
of salivating
vandals drips
over the
spoils of war
as they initiate the
disassemblage,
the leveling and
reapportionment
of the grand prize.

The clever
oligarchs
have laid claim
to a righteous
reparation
of the peoples
assets for
pennies on the
dollar.

Their wholly
bought politicos
move to transfer
distressed assets
into their just
stewardship
through the
holy justice
of privatization
and the sound
rationale of
free market
solutions.

In the land of the
pursuit of property,
nimble wolf PACs
of swift 527, LLCs
have fully
metastasized
into personhood;
ascending to
the top of the
food chain in
America’s
voracious
political culture;
bestriding
the nation to
compel the
national will
to genuflect
to the cool facility
of corporate
dominion.

As the
inertial ******
of the plaintive
locomotive
fades into
another old
morning of
recalcitrant
Reaganism,
it lugs its
ambivalent
middle class
baggage toward
it’s fast expiring
future.

I follow
the dirge
down to
the street
as the ebbing
sound fades
into the gloom
of the
burgeoning
morning,
slowly
replacing the
purple twilight
with a breaking
day of cold gray
clouds framing
silhouettes of
cranes busily
constructing
a new city.

The personhood of
corporations need
homes in our new
republic; carving
out new
neighborhoods
suitable for the
monied citizens
of our nation.

First amongst
equals, the best
corporate governance
charters form
the foundation of
the republic’s
new constitution.
Civil rights
are secondary
to the freedom
of markets; the
Bill of Rights
are economically
replaced by the
cool manifests
of Bills of Lading.

The agents of
laissez faire
capitalism
nibble away
at the city’s
neighborhoods
one block at a time;
while steady winds
blows dust off
the National Mall.

Layers of the
peoples plaza are
plained away with
each rising gust.  

History repeats
itself as the Joad’s
are routed from their
land once again.

A clever
mixed use
plan of
condos and
strip malls
is proposed
to finally help the
National Mall
unlock its true
profit potential.

As America’s
affection for
federalism fades
the water in
the reflection pool
is gracefully drained.

We the people
can no longer
see ourselves.

The profit
potential of
industry is
preferred over
the specious
metaphysical
benefits
of reflection.

The grand image,
the rich pastiche,
the quixotic aroma
of the national
melting ***
is reduced to the
sameness of the
black tar that lines
the pool and the
swirling eddies of
brown dust circling
the cracked indenture.

From his not so
distant vantage point,
Abe ponders the
empty pool wondering
if the cost of lives
paid was a worthy
endeavor of preserving
the ****** union?  
Has the dear prize
won perished from
this earth?

Was the illusive
article of liberty  
worth its weight in
the blood expended?

Did the people ever
fully realize the value
of government
by the people,
for the people?

Did citizens of
the republic
assume the
responsibilities to
protect and honor
the rights and privileges
of a representative
government?

Now our idea
and practice of
civil rights is measured
and promoted as far as
it can be justified by
a corporate ROI, a
shareholder dividend,
an earmark or a political
donation to a senators
unconnected PAC.

The divine celestial
ledgers balancing
the rights and
privilege of free people
drips with red ink.  

Liberty, equality
fraternity are bankrupt
secular notions
condemned as
expensive
liberal seditions;
hatched by
UnHoly Jacobins,
the atheist skeptics
during the dark times
of the Age of Enlightenment.

Abe ponders
the restoration
of Washington’s
obelisk, to
repair the cracks
suffered  from
last summer’s
freak earthquake.

I believe I detect
a tear in Abe’s
granite eye
saddened by the
corporate temblors
shaking the
foundations
of the city.

2.

The WWII Memorial
is America’s Parthenon
for a country's love
affair with the valor
and sacrifice of warfare.

WWII forms the
cornerstone of
understanding the
pathos of the
American Century.

During WWII
our greatest generation
rose as a nation to
defeat the menace of
global fascism and
indelibly mark the
power and virtue of
American democracy.

As Lincoln’s Army
saved federalism, FDR’s
Army kept the world safe
for democracy.

Both armies served
a nation that shared
the sacrifice and
burden of war to
preserve the grace of
a republican democracy.

Today federalism
crumbles as our
democracy withers.

The burden
of war is reserved
for a precious few
individuals while
its benefits
remain confined to
the corporate elite.

Our monuments
to war have become
commercial backdrops
for the hollow patriotism
of war profiteers.

We have mortgaged
our future to pay
for two criminal wars.

The spoils of
war flow into the
pockets of
corporate
shareholders
deeply invested
in the continuation
of pointless,
destructive
hostilities.

Our service
members who
selflessly served
their country come
home to a less free,
fear struck nation;
where economic
security and political
liberty erodes
each day while the
monied interests
continue to bless
the abundance
of freedom and riches
purchased with the
blood and sweat
of others.

America desperately
needs a new narrative.

The spirit of the
Greatest Generation
who sacrificed and met
the challenge of the 20th
Century must become
this generations spiritual
forebears.

The war on terror
neatly fits the
the corporate
pathos of
militarism,
surveillance
and the sacrifice
of civil liberties
to purchase
a daily measure
of fear and
economic
enslavement.

It must be rejected
by a people committed
to building secular
temples to pursue
peace, democracy,
economic empowerment,
civil liberties and tolerance
for all.

Yet this old city
and the democratic
temples it built
exulting a free people
anointed with the
grace of liberty
is being consumed
in a morass of
commercial
polyglot.

3.

During the
War of 1812
the British Army
burned the
Capitol Building
and the White House
to the ground.

Thank goodness
Dolly Madison saved
what she could.

The new marauders
are not subject to the
pull of nostalgia.  

They value nothing
save their
self enrichment.

They will spare nothing.

Our besieged Capitol
requires Lincoln’s troops
to be stationed along the
National Mall to defend
the republic.

The greatest peril
to our nation
is being directed
by well placed
Fifth Columnists.

From the safety
of underground bunkers,
in secure undisclosed
locations within the city’s
parameters, a well financed
confederacy employing  
K Street shenanigans
are busy selling off
the American Dream
one ear mark
at a time, one
huge corporate
welfare allotment
at a time.

The biggest prize
is looting the real
property of the people;
selling Utah,
auctioning off
the public schools,
water systems, post offices
and mineral rights
on the cheap
at an Uncle Sam
garage sale.  

The capitol is
indeed burning
again.

Looters are
running riot.

The flailing arms
of a dying empire
fire off cruise
missiles and drone
strikes; hitting the
target of habeas
corpus as it
shakes in its
final death rattle.
I make a pilgrimage
to the MLK Jr.
Monument.

Our cultural identity
is outsourced to
foreign contractors
paid to reinterpret
the American Dream
through the eyes
of a lowest bidder.

MLK has lost
his humanity.

He has been
reduced to a
a Chinese
superhuman
Mao like anime
busting loose from
a granite mountain while
geopolitical irony
compels him to watch
Tommy Jefferson
**** Sally Hemings
from across the tidal
basin for all eternity.  

MLK’s eyes fixed in
stern fascination,
forever enthralled
by the contradictions
of liberty and its
democratic excesses
of love in the willows
on golden pond.

Circling back to
Father Abraham’s
Monument,  I huddle
with a group of global
citizens listening
to an NPS Ranger
spinning four score
tales with the last full
measure of her devotion.

I look up into Abe’s
stone eyes as he
surveys platoons
of gray suited
Chinese Communist
envoys engaged
in Long Marches
through the National Mall;
dutifully encircling cabinet
buildings and recruiting
Tea Party congressmen
into their open party cells.

This confederacy
is ready to torch
the White House
again.

Congressmen and
the perfect patriots
from K Street slavishly
pull their paymasters
in gilded rickshaws to
golf outings at the Pentagon
and park at the preferred
spots reserved for
the luxury box holders
at Redskin Games.

They vow not to rest
until the house of the people
is fully mortgaged to the
People’s Republic of China’s
Sovereign Wealth Fund.

4.

A great
Son of Liberty like
Alan Greenspan
roundly rings
the bells of
free markets
as he inches
T Bill rates
forward a few
basis points
at a time; while
his dead mentor
Ayn Rand
lifts Paul Ryan
to her
Fountainhead teet.
He takes a long
draw as she
coos songs
from her primer
of Atlas Shrugged
Mother Goose tales
into his silky ears.

The construction
cranes swing
to the music
building new private
sector space with
the largess of
US taxpayers
money; or
more rightly
future generations
taxpayer debt.

Libertarians,
Tea Baggers, Blue Dogs
and GOP waterboys
eagerly light a
match to the
the crucifixes
bearing federal
social safety
net programs
to the delight
of NASDAQ
listed capitalists
on the come,
licking their chops
to land contracts
to administer
these programs
at a negotiated
cost plus
profit margin.

Citizens
dependent
on programs
are leery
shareholders
are ecstatic.

To be sure
our free
market rebels
don disguises
of red, white
and blue robes
but their objectives
fail to distinguish
their motives and
methods with
some of the finest
Klansman this
country has
ever produced.

5.

DC is a city
of joggers
and choppers.

Corporate
helicopters
wizz by the
Washington
Monument,
popping erections
for the erectors
inspecting the progress
of the cranes
commanding the
city skyline.

USMC drill team
out for a morning
run circles the Mall.

The commanding
cadence of the
DI keeps us
mindful of the
deepening
militarization of
our society.

A crowd  
rushes
to position
themselves,
genuflecting
to photograph
a platoon on
the move.

I try to consider
the defining
characteristics of
Washington DC.

DC is all surface.

It is full of walls
and mirrors.

Its primary hue
is obfuscation.

Open
communication
scripted from well
considered talking points
informs all dialog.

The city is thoroughly
enraptured in narcissism.

Thankfully, one can
always capture the
reflection of oneself in
the ubiquitous presence of
mirrors.  

Vanity imprisons
the city inhabitants.

Young joggers circle the
Mall and gerrymander
down every pathway
of the city.  

They are the clerks,
interns and staffers of
the judicial, executive
and legislative branches.

They are the children
of privilege.

They will never
alter their path.

You must cede the walk
to their entitlement
of a swift comportment
or risk injury of a
violent collision.

These young ones
portray a countenance  
of benevolent rulers.  

They seem to be learning
their trade craft well from
the senators and judges
whom they serve.

They appear confident
they know what's best
for the country and after
their one term of tireless
service to the republic
they look forward to
positions in the private
sector where they will
assist corporations
to extend their reach
into the pant pockets
worn by the body politic.

6.

Our nations mythic story
lies hidden deep in the
closed rooms of the
museums lining the
Mall.

I pause to consider
what a great nation
and its great people
once aspired to.

I spy the a
suspended
Space Shuttle
hanging in dry dock
at the air and
space museum.

Today America’s
astronauts hitch
rides on Russian
rockets.

America rents a
timeshare from
the European
space agency to
lift communication
satellites into orbit.

Across the Mall
I photograph
John Smithson’s
ashes in its columbarium.  

I fear it has become a
metaphor for America’s
future commitment
to scientific inquiry
and rational secular
thinking.

I am relieved to
discover a Smithsonian
exhibit that asks
“what does it mean
to be human?”

The Origins of Humans
exhibit carries a disclaimer
to satisfy creationists.

The exhibit timidly states
that science can coexist
with religious beliefs and
that the point of the exhibit is
not to inflame inflame religious
passions but to shed light on
scientific inquiry.

I imagine these exhibits
will inflame the passion of
the fundamentalist
American Taliban and
provide yet another
reason to dismantle
the Moloch of Federalism.

The pursuit of science
remains safe at the
Smithsonian for now.

7.

Near K Street at
McPherson Park
a posse of
well dressed
lobbyists, the
self anointed
uber patriots
doing the work
of the people
stroll through
the park
boasting a
healthy population
of bedraggled
homeless.

The homeless
occupy the benches
that have been
transformed into
pup tents.

Perhaps some of
the residents of this
mean estate were
made homeless by a
foreclosed mortgage.  

The K Street warriors
can be proud that their
work on behalf of the
banking industry has
forestalled financial market
reform.  

Through it exacerbates
the homeless problem it has
allowed these K Street titans to
profit from the distress of others.

Earlier in the day
I photographed
a homeless man
planted in front of
the Washington
Monument.

I wonder
if my political
voyeurism is
an exploitation of
this man’s condition?

I have more in common
then I probably wish to
admit with my K Street
antagonists.  

In another section
of the park the
remnants of a
distressed OWS
bivouac remain.

The legions of sunshine
patriots have melted away
as the interest of the
blogosphere has waned.

As the weather
improves Moveon.org
and democratic
party operatives
pitch tents in an
effort to resuscitate
the moribund
movement.

They hope
to coop any
remaining energy
to support their
stale deception,
a neoliberal vision
based solely on the
total capitulation
to the bankrupt
corporatocracy.

I heard someone say
a campaign lasts a
season; while a
movement for social
change takes decades.

If that metric proves
correct, and if the
powers don’t succeed
in compromising the
people’s movement
I’ll be three quarters
of a century old
before I see
justice flowing like
a river once again.

8.

I circle back to
the L’Enfant and
find myself
tramping amidst
the lost platoon
of Korean War
soldiers.

My feet drag
in the quagmire
of grass covering
the feet of this
ghostly troop.

My namesake
uncle was a
decorated
veteran of this
conflict and Im
sure I detect
his likeness
in one of the
statues.

The bleak call
of a distant train
sounds a revelry
and I imagine this
patrol springing
to life to answer
the call of their
beloved country
once again.

Yet they remain
inert.  

Stuck in a
place that the
nation finds
impossible to
leave.

The eyes of the
men stare into
an incomprehensible
fate.  

They see the swarms
of Red Army infantrymen
crossing the Yellow River
streaming toward
them in massive
human waves,
the tips of
sparkling bayonets
threatening to slash
the outmanned
contingent fighting
to bits.

They are the
first detachment
to bravely confront
the rising power
of China many
thousands of
miles away
from their homes.

America like
this lone company
is overwhelmed
and lost in the
confusion
that confronts
them.

Looking up
I perceive the
bewilderment
of my muddled image
reflected on the
marble walls
surrounding
the memorial.

I am a comrade-in-arms,
a fellow wanderer sojourning
with th

The result of privatization
Is a loss too great to bear
Government bowing to Industries
Leading us towards despair

Industries teach our children
Whatever whim they choose
While government stands in shackles
It'll happen while we snooze

Gamble with Social Security
Until there is nothing left
The brokers will have the money
While leaving us all bereft

Take elderly off of Medicare
Give them a voucher instead
When the market costs too much
Who'll pay for their hospital bed?

When people remove a government
What will come in its place?
The wealthy, the prideful, the arrogant
Will take charge of the human race

Didn't we fight for our freedom
To break from the monarchy?
Privatization rules through business
For the elite to rule with greed

(I)

Whose coat is this? Sure as hell isn't my coat. I ain't got no coat with this parka ****, it's *******. I ain't no furry flamin' ******. I ain't no ****** chochy Molly-May-Ze-**** chokin' down chickens and nasalin' a'sniffin' snortin' nasty-*** choch; that ain't me. That ain't me. Look at this coat– I'm like an Eskimo *****. I'm like a butch-**** bull-**** crotch-lappin' a'swimmin' laps in that guy's swimmin' pool. Who's that guy? Who owns that guy? 'Ey, anyone here the owner of this guy– guy ain't got no owner? Whose coat is this? It's nice, real nice. Bet she said, "Does it come from France? Where do I buy one?" I want to buy one, I think I need to buy **** more. I sure as hell need to buy one of these. "And I need one these too and one of them too and I need a petticoat and a tipper-tapper and a whimpratic garfielder and one of them new bartlemores, I need more of them bartlemores. I need more, more, more, more, more, more..." That ain't enough. ****'s from France. ****'s from Paris, that's romantic. You think I'm romantic? I eat hearts for dinner, I chew down nails like nuts for my midnight snack. I smoke cigarettes and spit on concrete slabs, you think that's ****? I'll show you ****. I'll show you Paris, New York City, Rome, romance you in Rome. I'll get real ******' Roman. I'll take you to the desert and make love to you. That's how a free man does a woman, and I'm a real free man. Who's ownin' this guy? It ain't you, it ain't me. I don't own you, you don't own me. I'm a free man:

I said,
"Fire and wood, fire and wood, fire and wood. It is late, it is late, it is far, far too late."

I set
fire to wood, fire to wood; feel that fire fired fresh from that firewood.

I dug the pit,
he gathered the wood,
she started the fire.

She really does make that fire start.

O' how she makes that fire burn,
O' how the wood's wrapped in white hots,
O' how they smoke their smokestacked pipes,
O' tobacco teeming teenagers, tormented by and through youth,
O' adolescence, trending topics, and forget-me-not flowers,
O' old age, Floridan coffins, and coughing  cancers,
O' writers in the mountains writing to be,
O' painters and **** bodies in studies by the sea,
O' thinkers in their mindset, mindsetting the table for dinner,
O' tables set to bursting,
O' wallets so thick,
O' community,
O' society, our social games,
O' hope,
O' peace,
O' that I may be at peace,
O' that I may be content and pray only for peace,
O' how about them true believers,
O' how about that love at first sight,
O' sandstone. My sandstone. That guy sittin' on sandstone.

That's my guy. That's my guy. I own this ****.

Is a man breathing on a mirror the sum of his breaths?
Breaths foggin' a'mistin' my view,
my view of a body and that face,
you're a body.
You're a workin' day's bell,
you're my chill in an Icelandic draft,
you're my spare in a Middle Eastern draft,
you're my pawn in chest-to-chest chess.

You've got this. You've got this. You own this ****.

And it is ****, too. I'd be set, real ******' set, with someone like you. I'll make you a woman, check this parka ****. Coat's mine. I'm a classy igloo runner, runnin' a'ragin' a'czebelskiin' meriteratin', I'll be reiteratin' your points. Check the time, it's late! It's late! ***** was in the grassy knoll turnin' trap tunes on her turntable. Would you listen to that? She sounds late to me, does she sound late to you? I like the music; I like the music. What happened to Woodstock? Where's my watergate, Nixon? Where's my generation, Ginsberg? Where's the meaning? This music's too loud! We're so profound! O' profundity!

Tell me something I didn't know, I'm craving' the new.
Give me the new while I spit on the old,
while I spit on this fine art finely art'd by and for fine artists–
******' fine artists. ******* fine artists.

(You can realize radical-realist realism but you can't be real with me?)

O' fine art!
What fine art!
Which fine artists are dead?



(II)

Looks like they're dead.

Looks like them ******* choked out all them ghettos, choked out all them rednecks, chokin' a'stranglin' by-God-oh-God straddlin' the breeders. I sure did like them babes– babes with their laughin' a'lackin' o' cynicism. They don't know the word "****."

I sure am forgetful–
I forgot that smoke doesn't dissipate,
I forgot how to smell autumn leaves,
I forgot to check the heart against the fingertips,
I forgot why my fingertips went numb,
I forgot to cue in the meaning when the sentence was complete,
I forget to complete my sentences,
I forget who you were wanting when you said, "I want you."

I got as much depth as an in-depth discussion, high hats and electropercussion have got me going. I'm goin' downtown, uptown bourgeois tricked me out, johns and yellow Hummers laid me down and cussed me out. That's not a discussion. That's not my scent scenting my towel, this breath reeks of wintry air– my fingertips went numb.

"I want you."

"Oh would you look at that moon?
Take a look at that moon.
Look at that moon with the ******' mountains.
I love that moon.
That's my moon."

I love darin' a'dusty dareelin' derailin' your dreams, whose dreams are these? They ain't my dreams– ain't no dream derailin' a'nileerad radiatiatin' some hint of joy or Jamison Scotch Liqueur. Drink that ****. That's my ****, I own that ****.
I'm sittin' on this stoop like I own this ****, like this **** owns me; I owed me. I don't own me, you owe me:

Pay up man, feet off the stoop.
Pay up man, be real with me.
Pay up man, you ever thought of a man as a man?
Pay up man, give it in.
Pay up man, give in.
Pay up man, I need you to do me a solid. Do me solid from crown-to-toe, we're toe-to-toe let's do-si-do bro-to-** I'm ready go, **, jo, ko, lo, get low… Now I'm ramblin'. You say, "Ramble in to the stoop and tell me a story."

What's a stoop– who's a stoop? That **** ain't stoop– you ain't stoop. You're stupid. You're a joke, check out the joke. Hey ladies, you seen this joke– joke ain't been seen by them ladies? I'm a joke. We ain't laughin' with you, they're laughin' at you.

O' hilarity!
Such hilarity!
What hilarious histories have passed?



(III)*

"I said I loved him once. I only loved him once."
(And how long once has been...)

I sure did like them hand-holdins,
them star-gazin' moments,
them moon phasin' nighttime nuances,
them fingertip feelin' a'findin',
them sessions o'meshin' limber legs unto steadfast *****,
heads cocked like guns toward the sky,
beyond the horizon
but well
below the belt.

Them star-gazing moments seeing stars seemin' small, I love how they gleam- gleamin' a'glarin' comparin' shine to shine, shimmerin' a glimmer shone stumblin' her way home from the bar. She's drunk. She's brilliant, brilliance of whit and wantin' a'wanderlustin' gypsy nomads- that ***** gyp'd me, no mad man would take a cerebral slam to the face lest them moving pictures are involved. Read a ******' book, it'll last longer. Kiss me on the collar bones, clavicles shone shining with slick saliva pining for my affections. You're clammerin' to feel me, clammin' up (Just feel me.) I want to run my hands through long hair and peg the nausea nervosa to the wall. The writing's on the wall:

The sun bent over so the moon could rise, chanting,
"Goodbye and good riddance,
I never wanted to shine down
on them seas o' tranquilities anyhow."*

O' what a day. What a day.

And the wind ruffles leaves and it ruffles feathers on birds eating worms in brown soil.

What a day. What a day.

And the men under the bridge gather in traitorous conversation of governments overthrown and border dissolution and poetry with meters bent out of tune.

What a day. What a day.

And the billboards are dry for all the consumers to consume, use, and review.

What a day. What a day.

And hearts break messiest when you're not looking.

What a day. What a day.

And the ego and the id and the redwood trees are talking. They're sitting **** in the marshes, bathing in the bogwater while fondling foreign fine wines and whisperin' a'veerin' conversations towards topics kept well out of hand, out of the game, nontobe racin' in races, rampant radical racists betting bets on bent, bald Bolshevik racists wagging Marxist manifestos in the bourgeois' faces, yes. Make it be. Nontobe sanity as the captain creases his pleats, pleasin' her creases and the dewdrops of sweat trailing down the small of her back– down the ridge of her spine forming solitary springs of saline saltwater in the small of her back. Aye-aye, guy's pleasin' a'makin' choices a'steerin'– government's a'veerin' a hard left into the ice.

'Berg! 'Berg!
Danger in the icy 'berg!
None too soon a 'berg!
Bound to bump a 'berg!
O' inevitably unnerving 'berg!
Authoritative 'berg!
Totalitarian 'berg!
Surveillance of *** and the sexes 'berg!
O' fatalist fetishist 'berg!
Benevolent big brother 'berg!
Homosocial socialization 'berg!
Romanticized Roman 'berg!
O' virginal mother 'berg!
City on a hill on a 'berg!
Subtly socialist 'berg!
Nongovernmental 'berg!
O' illustrious libertine 'berg!
Freedom of the people 'berg!
Water privatization 'berg!
Alcohol idolization 'berg!
O' corrupt and courageous 'berg!
Church and a stately 'berg!
Pray to your ceiling fan 'berg!
Biblically borne 'berg!
O' godly and gorgeous 'berg!
Ferocious freedom fighters launching lackluster demonstrations far too post-demonstration feeling liberty and love, la vie en rouge, revolving revolutionist ranting on revolution tangible as
an ice cold 'berg.

'Berg! 'Berg!
O' the 'berg, the ****** iceberg–
You'll be the death of me.

This country's being privatized
By politicians using private eyes
Manipulating through public lies
And their hate filled cries
The question becomes a stark why
We ask the dark unwise
Driving us to laced dimes
Or writing ****** rhymes
Love is the answer I surmise
Nobody else buys
Emotions have no value in the marketplace
Unless you're of a certain race
That reminds them of themself
Then they're more likely to share their wealth

We need more than paper *****
To tear down these paper walls
The order becomes too tall
When we apply an objective concept (currency)
To a subjective principle (value)
Our ideas of value get tangled
Our empathy is mangled
Our discourse becomes angled
Discussions turn to wrangles
And cats are bred Bengal
As our domestic lives
Never left the jungle
But there's always a rumble
Regimes always tumble
Humanity continues to stumble
Earth's health starts to fumble
Molesting the planet like a creepy uncle
Until we see our follies unfold
Then will we be so bold
To say we can do it on our own?

c.1999/5000 1 air, and a glittering steel guitar,          guitar but not a letter
through the private window of the pictures appearing early on the walls
we are enjoyable,    the heat that can not see the dream as a child is worth changing the glass to the rock and Russia's councils,
like the brain of people who love the tricks of paper,
keep all the Jews in the garden of Christ,
the ****** field recently said at the French companies stockholder's meeting,
Superior athletes are as a huge sandwich, says Social society
and the coordinator; to be rich, the fighters for their blind guides have died, Bob is well-known in the field of knowledge;
his finger of the ancient hundredth century leaders of the wind
and the evening that sat in his memory;
1 Revolution a dance, dance with John
make color colors colorful clouds of radio;
To the mountains, 'to eat your body's fleshly body
with a child hiding a baby robot to turn them into pain';
In the Christian books, newspapers and in the air
on the ninth day, and Maria was wise in the morning,
at least; owned by fighters, and dressed in white *******;
policemen,         playing the second time,
We played a *******, waiting for Betty
to hear the Lord's words, cut off the sweet tongue
of Eve as an angelic tree on the waters
of the Einstein-Lucius wall, to the Goshen,
Venenatis Museum of Loyola, his other feet
on the corner of a righteous man buried
in the grave of Maecenas, who had been dropped
down to heaven; upon the head, and fat, nothing,
nothing; and in the garden of the founder
to understand the beach, and make it desolate,
and the restricted kingdom of their decision
states in color all the lines of the smoke of the city's smoke
in the wilderness, and is called according to the number
of prostitutes in public, the light in the middle,
warmly hot, such as the load of loafy artists
lost and standing in the woods of The supplier,
where the incredible Asian flag with the pitch problem
is not love, and I do not listen to their music;
Until the day you speak Online when the opposite screen is displayed. || |
Of the wind, 1 Leave a Kiss to come to ***** her sweet gay body
not of this writing, the windows of the secret of being is filled with the lot
of the image of the morning, children of the Wall, we are Alchemists,
the heat of the invisible things of his dreams
changes a kid to pieces,       to play inwardly,
'mirror of the rock', the Russian guy feels the passage of a pit,
he wanted the brain of the guys on the friendship
with the cat is the school of his lips,
as wet with the whole of the Jews as the garden of the Christ,
a ****** field wearing the arms of interest,
lately talking ground French Mountain Roast;
Pinky deserves to get high smoking sand for free,
bad and ugly Society says paint, prophet,
get rich; hire strippers with their blind dog sense,
Bob died in the science park perfectly unknown;
asking that his fingers' century of language's
center of knowledge of Angels, keep remembering
sitting modern dance floors and clubs; 1 move that
brought revolution dance, dancing with John
in this *****'s silver colored shades of radio;
Pregnant eating meat is no friend of the child
to turn the table in bed watching robot Hills plastic guns;
Christian writings in newspapers, at noon in Heaven,
Mary eyes the mothers' genius in the morning,
certainly; by eating strippers the cops were written
into the machine of *******, she was playing
the second ******* and waiting for Bettie
to hear the happy; cut the lights, her tongue produces angels
and tree smells, Eve waves her flanks under Einstein's Ivan walls,
her Loyola teething Football Muses begin to picture
sterilized legs' natural Orisha in a corner of the burial tomb,
what has been given has fallen to Maecenas his sleep,
upon his head of fat they lay, of vanity, they the garden
of developers understand the shore, and will take hold of her
to **** her **** and madly alter their clothing reading
of the whole singing songs of the glory of the smoke
of the wilderness of the town, almost all of you are called,
both digits of the ******* in the public light, yellow,
hot water taking her away in the middle
of it to go off and live on plunder;
the image to take hold of the flame
of the eyes of a messenger to become
acquainted with the course of the UFO's,
the price of a pulsing floral teenager's
cold beginning to talk about ***
to the corporation's newcomer the Devil,
simply looking bright;
****'s income ruins his already sweaty socks
as he stands at the bar drinking
with Providence where the Asian died
without new motion to move a song lover
to leave without a state they met
singing Karaoke together when they
would not listen to each other;
She lived to die enough and as they talked |
the Goddess Online opposite their screens appeared. |

1 air polished on the guitar,
the guitar but not the letters
through the private window,
the pictures shown in the morning
on the walls are enjoyable
and the summer does not seem to be a dream
that a child is converted to through the glass
of rock and Russia planted within the brain,
and those who love it deceitfully wrapped up in paper,
so all the Jews in the garden of Christ,
the ****** farmer recently said French companies
had an elevator at a huge tasting,
says Social Society and the coordinator
may be rich blind guides, who have died
at a crash, they and Bob well known
in the science field; wind in the evening,
a session of the old's of old age,
memory of yourself to be in your
hundreds; 1 Dance dance, dance,
color, color, color, color, and color on the radio;
At the top, it becomes part of the children's interlocking robot's body
that will relieve their pain; In the Christian books,
newspapers and in the air, on the ninth day of the sea
and the morning of the wise, at least, will have its enemies,
dressed for a rally, the police, playing the second playing
or impending waiting for Marcus
to hear the words cut off the sweet tongue
of Einstein's Eve an angel companion of a piece of wood,
L. to the Goshen sterilized the Museum of Loyola,
the others' feet buried in a tomb
just around the corner from Maecenas',
which that could have been sent
to the heavens; upon the fat thing;
in the garden, the founder of the people
understands the heights, and to protect it,
and for between the kingdoms
of the design of the state of the colors
of all the borders of the smoke of the city,
and the smoke of the wilderness, which is said,
according to the number of prostitutes
in the republic, the light of the middle
is the very hottest, such as the loafy artificers
to lose weight, the forests where a lot stands in the yard,
where are the incredible things who are Asian,
posters, and those who do not want to listen to music
are online today to tell you it has been
displayed on the opposite screen. ||| ||      ||||       |
|
1 air and a polished gita, guitar but not letters
through the private window, the pictures appearing
in the morning on the wall in the summer
and summer did not see the way this young man
was converted through a glass of rock and Russia
decided as a brain, and he loved by her tricks,
so all Jews in the garden of Christ, the ****** girl
soon said that the French councils seemed to be the largest,
said the Social Society and the leader could be rich,
blind guides, who had died in a casual accident, Bob
was well-known in the field of knowledge;
the wind in the evening, times of old age,
memory of itself to be a hundred; 1 Dance,
dance, color, color, color, color, and color
on the radio; At the top, it becomes a part
of the robotic mind of children who will experience their pain;
In Christian literature, newspapers and in the air,
on the ninth day of the morning and the morning of the wise,
at least, will have his enemies, dressed as a council,
policemen, playing at a second accident or a stop;
waiting for Marcus to hear the words in Einstein's native language
and the design of an angelic shape, L. to Ga-in, the Loyola city,
other graves buried in a tomb by the Maecenas corners,
which can be transmitted to the sky upon, oh,
one united nation; in the garden, the founder of the people
to understand the high places, and to defend it,
and for the governments of the shape of the state
the colors of all the smoke of the smoke in the smoke of the wilderness, which is said, such as number of prostitution in the city,
the light of the middle-class, such as skilled workers to lose weight,
forests where many have stayed in the yard,
where Asian wonders, posters, and people
who do not want to hear music on the internet today
tell you it has been displayed when the screen is opposite. ||||
| || |      
Annie polished up on her study of guitar,
but it is not in writing, deprived of a window
in the image of the remains of the wall,
summer, autumn, and they can see just
what a young man had recently amended
by the mirror out of the rock, in Russia
it was decided with the culture and loved,
through a mistake, out of all the Jews
which were in the garden of 1, Mary, the
dancer, the color, of color, of color, of color,
of the color of the letter, speaking of the rays
in the many regions of the privatization
of to do them wrong, however, you will not,
or still feel the pain of the air, of the
newspapers from the 9 in the morning,
in the morning; in the morning, by which
time the Council of the mind is upon
rats, Annie, the garment, or the enemy. | 1 |

Red Red Red Red-of-the-Media Blitz
because it does not look like a change
is to be the means of this thing; Artistic arts, they help;         So that Brown
is behind the wall;                          Barbie is something
new,                                                   ­            something new and powerful is
in the air; the following are hot hot peas:
The extensions of the glass glass glass,
so it checks them;                                        The article read from
my eyes were blind to Russian Alchemy
in the bright red sea;                    an announcement
from the windows lacquered to do all
from local kitchens,                      trips to sites from year to year
to burn the more results you received
that you find in your memory of Lauren
the prophet;       Moreover,                       there is a serious error;
Rainbow worn platforms but Robotic and
caring, with a piece of cake;          cooking is only
the interpretation of the beast in a different
way, The artist is the artist upstairs:     Wonderful.
Red is red, the reddish-colored redhead
of anonymity as a result of the differences
appearing on the shadow with the help of
action, taking photos of Asia;                    kissing
the fence, come let Barbie's secret lady
be brown and gay;           The intensity of energy
is manifested in the air;                         the music
wants glass glass that is sweet world
positioning her hole, glass summer,        summer
of historical rock.              These brain-changing
emotions are correcting sensitive words
that hit the blind spot and blind the body
of your admin;                                          a ******'s ******'s ****** alchemy,
pink Russian windows,                                                    full-­size lacquered
windows,                                                       tuxedo sand washing sandwich
society understood as a tourist's tourist company,
a yearly tourist company;          Modern science's
knowledge is unknown to the perfect
memorial tomb that prophesied prophetically
dancing, dancing angels; angel dancing,              cooking meals,
robotics noodles, noodles,                                  cooking noodles
too sit in the strange spot of the favorite top
of life's beautiful musical eyebrows.
Red Red Red Red-of-the-Media Blitz,
1 do not want this difference;
Work is needed, assistance;                                              I'm not
Brown Barbie,                                       she is hidden behind the
screen,                                      especially during warm weather,
peeled,                                           Checking of the crystal glass
and mirrors glass they read a book 1;
face it;                                                          Alch­emy is now blind in Russia,
the Red version's version lacquered;
It has been received from Portfolios
in recent years,                       who had recently been
in the kitchen of the journey rather
than as they knew him,                                                 in many cases
are the acts of your people:                                                 Memory's
Prophet Lauren;                                                        Th­ere is no male
to persuade the developer now,
so it's all I will look at;                                                          an error
of Privatization,                                                   ­           Suddenly the balcony
is a loaf of bread this knife is cutting;
customized techno music is an umbrella ....
Red is red,                                                 the red-colored redhead of widgets
as a result of variations appears on the shadow
with the help of action,              she made photos of Asia;
facing the fence,                      let's make Barbie Brown's
brand new stuff his wife;                                                  Power consumption
has been revealed in the air;                               the song;
Wants a glass of glass that is a happy place
heat heat pitch, position rocky rock.
     These medications,              emotions adjust the text,
            matters read the blind eyes dark body
  your admin is a ****** and ******'s alchemy
is pink Russian windows;                    full-size lacquer
window's tuxedo sand washed sandwiches
of society;                                    Understand one-year tourist
attractions and tourist sites of Modern technology;
science's knowledge is pure ignorance of the memorial tomb
that he prophesied,                  |      prophesied in a prophetic,
angelic animation
eating angles, cooking meals,                    robotics, noodles,
noodles,                                         cooking noodles while sitting in a favored
foreign site,                                              the top of the beautiful artist's face.

My innermost thoughts
Under lock and key
Daily written down
Dear diary….

A little link book
A black cover without
A title or name
Mine….

Some entries are
8.5 x 11 pages long
Spelling doesn’t count
Secret….

Between mattress ad
Box spring hidden
Don’t tell anyone
Personal….

Religion, ***, politics
Men, women, both
Scandals, friends, danger
Confession….

My soul bared
My heart broken
My bones brittle
Testament….

Social….
Twitter….
Virtual….
Misbegotten life

© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016

Red Red Red Red-of-the-Media Blitz
1 I do not like this difference;                     Anillo,
Help; I do not support Barbie,                     Barbie
up on the screen, even in the hot weather,
correct, Check of glasses and mirror glasses
reading a book, 1; face it,  Alchemy be blind
in Russia,      The Red version's version lacquered,
                  It has won from deposit although
in recent years,                he has gone to Breakfast
alone;    he is a trip instead of them knowing,
many of the services of his people:
memory of the Prophet Lauren;           No one can
try the temptation now,                so all that I shall
see;   the error of Privatization Suddenly,
the balcony is a trademark;           Here is the cut;
It's like brainwashing an umbrella ....

Red Red Red Red-of-the-Media Blitz
1 I do not like this difference; Anillo
Help; I do not support Barbie, Barbie
up on the screen,           even in the hot weather,
correct, Check of glasses and mirror glasses
reading in book, 1;    face it, Alchemy be blind
in Russia, The Red version's version lacquered,
                   It has won from deposit although
in recent years,        he has gone to Breakfast
alone; it is a trip instead of them knowing,
many of the services of his people:
memory of the Prophet Lauren; Nobody can
try the temptation now, so all that I will
see is the error of Privatization Suddenly,
the balcony is a trademark;   Here is the cut;
It's like brainwashing an umbrella ....

I ate some
I ate way to much,
met the president
and the vice.
5 eggs, 2 bagels, 2 cups of joe
and 10 pieces of bacon.
Cherry pepsi and diet pepsi
a suicide Seriously,
with much more taste
than that.  
a final at 3:30.
pm, central standard.
The anatomy type,
I hoped that here
was some hope on the cover
I put it there.
a salted education plans
from a liberal democrat  
A democrat
North Carolina
can not keep
a shut mouth,
it is too deep.  
Havard is squeling about
science and privatization of
remarks.  Well, George
is the William and Mary.  
I spent the morning
trying to loose
a super lady.  
In my praise.  
I am not sure
how this is going
to work out.  
Time to study.
Is it really
worthless to get through it.  
Is it Ok, if I
am the ghost.
Of the pentagon.  

thanks for reading.  exercise or conflict resolution?