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Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
I understand your feeling;
That nothing ever works,
That all of those who run
Are just a bunch of jerks
That nothing ever gets fixed.
It’s all a money game,
The rich keep getting richer
And no one take the blame.

So, people get elected
And promises are made
Then the other side starts whining
And throwing lots of shade.
Then the media gets in there,
They only care about the ratings.
They focus on who is famous
And who someone is dating.

The issues are complicated
So much is at stake.
It’s not just a simple matter
Of who is on the take.
It’s more like ****** if I do
And cursed if I do not.
What’s the use of voting
When look what we have got?

So, you let them all go on
And you just wait and see.
After all, it’s just a game.
So how bad can it be?
Maybe an outsider now
Who doesn’t follow rules.
Maybe they can get inside
And make them look like fools.

One side says the numbers lie
The other calls them cheats.
One side says trust me folks.
The other lists defeats.
Either way, after ward they
Both will sing he blues.
Should you look at successes
Or vote the evening news?

The best advice is to watch
Who walks their own talk,
And who wants all the money
All the marbles and the chalk.
Who cares to improve the fate
Of those who really need?
And who is driven just by lust
And barefaced naked greed?
My pitch through sow
and debt trouble superfluous
with wealth in Coe
where thrift a hoax now
but tread yuan nigh
there my dear and die in relief
that join forces by tomorrow's spring.
Sebastian Coe-Parliamentarian noted for Paralympics
Brent Kincaid Mar 2017
All cash must flow in only one direction.
All  must go to those who have a lot.
Alll POTUS tweets are used as misdirection
In Blame-a-lot!
The cabinet must all be legal morons
So they don’t see what POTUS has wrought.
Then they cannot be blamed for what goes on
In Blame-a-lot!

Blame-a-lot! Blame-a-lot.
It’s really much more than bizarre.
But in Blame-a-lot; Blame-a-lot!
That’s how conditions are.
In short there’s simply not
A much more likely spot
For shame and true chicanery
Than here in
Blame-a-lot!
(Sing to the tune of a certain Broadway show
with a similar name, written by Lerner and Lowe.)
Brent Kincaid Jan 2017
Lift up your eyes and see
You are correct to deeply fear.
Worse than all history
It’s gonna be a bad year.

The GOP has changed DC,
Now it stands for Demented Congressmen.
Federal Secretaries can barely spell!
It will take decades to fix this again.

Hide in your house and pray
Ignoring all the threatening signs.
Pay no attention to the news,
Everything will turn out just fine.

Who needs their civil rights?
Just pay your taxes and be quiet.
No one in Washington
Hears your opinion, they don’t buy it.

The whole show is bribes, so
If you’re a multi billionaire
And pay the right people,
Some one in Congress will care.

Remember the actual rules,
The important thing in politics
Is  stay in office for life
Even if they have to use tricks.

Being a statesman today
Doesn’t mean a thing any more
Because the voters
Don’t really care to keep score.

They raise lots of handy cash
And buy the most successful publicist
Then they have the people
Crushed in their grubby little fists.
maggie W Jan 2017
We are 9 miles away from D.C.,
the eye of the storm on the twentieth.

The suburbia love we had,
storm- before- the -calm  kind of meeting we had on this chaotic day.

9 miles away is the city we love
It is a refuge for our boredom and our doomed relationship
On the metro ride, on the E street and somewhere near Farragut West
We watched small budget movies, had ice cream or playing with each others' hands fondly.

We are several blocks away from all the barricades,
So why don't we get in closer and go to Chinatown Coffee
and then wandering down the H street.

In the suburb,  I do not feel peace,
Because the storm is coming.
I'd rather go in the eye of the storm,with you
Where you fell for me.

This Capital love of ours , on the outskirts of D.C.
Where in a perfect world we would both live in,
like last time you told me on the way to E street.
Love  in D.C., To Michael O.
Twisted
and broken
Dancing
And limping
Your perfect puppet on strings,
Bowing
And
Bending
In time to your madness;
A tiny porcelain ballerina
Spinning on a pedestal,
As you orchestrate our final symphony.
My sweet,
Scary
Maestro of monsters,
My Conductor of Chaos
And pain,
I adore you-
My darlin,
My puddin.
Bleeding
and hopeful
Here I am,
Still,
By your side;
Your fondest hit
Your favorite toy to squeeze
(the life out of)
Your prisoner in love;
(Your good girl)
Begging for just a little more.
Heave me over the side
Again
Drown me in your molten insanity,
Push me under-
Just.
One.
More.
Time.
To feel the thrills,
The chills,
The danger;
The happiness
Of liberating manic laughter-
To feel the helpless despair
As I perform in your circus.
Here I am,
To beg a bullet
For these lips,
That praise your deeds,
And pray for release,
For a mutual destruction,
A final comedy written in blood.
I guess...
the joke is on me after all...
Right, Mr. J?
Inspiration was Harley Quinn and the Jokers relationship in the new Suicide Squad film.
Nailed the nail
in the wall

There was a
a metal plate

Emptied entire box
of those nails

Smashed in wall!
Fell on floor

I threw picture
out of win-dow

Eating drywall so
**** on nails

When I wash
hands, soapy, soap

Popping bubbles, rub
clockwise no, yes?

~Alan Moore?
The kind that picks you up and drops you off in a different state of mind

The kind that leaves you lost in the right direction
it has unexpectedly taken

A kiss so purposeful and sound
Even the force of the wind nor the stares of passersby can break it

The kind of kiss the brain is stubborn to erase
because with every eighth minute
the present veers off its natural course
to travel back to that enchanting space

Back to him and me
planted in front of The Liberty Tree
Back to the heated discussion between lips
and to everything felt and poured out in our kiss

To hello and goodbye

To stoked intensity

And to the eloquent expression of elusive chemistry

2016 ©
Inspired by a first and last date.
Andrew T Apr 2016
Washingtonians, this Wednesday afternoon, come to the Starbucks on 1600 K Street to become acquainted with some young, interesting, average income level Asian American guys and gals. Instead of meeting Asian American doctors, lawyers, and consultants, you’ll meet Dr. Dre copycats, alcoholic paralegals, and T-Mobile wireless salespeople.

These guys and gals are looking to meet new friends that include: white, black, Hispanic, or any other race of people, just as long as you aren’t a F.O.B. Because after all, they don’t want to perpetuate the stereotype that Asians only hang out with other Asians. Just kidding, we love our F.O.B brothers and sisters! But **** stereotypes.

If you are a Washingtonian who likes drinking alcohol and smoking marijuana, stop by and make a new Asian American friend who will provide mixers and match you on a blunt. Please, do not ask these guys and gals for college study notes for Math or Bio, because all of them have dropped out of college to pursue their artistic passions, like: writing a novel about having a white group of friends and being the token who reads Tolkien and likes Toking; playing electric guitar in a grunge, punk, post-emo garage band with your black buddies who like Fugazi and bad brains but ******* hate Green day for selling out; and drawing sketches and painting portraits of the half-Asian girl you’re dating on a wide canvass, but really you’re secretly into selfies and taking photos of breakfast on Instagram.

We don’t discriminate against the kind of alcohol you drink, whether it be wine, beer, or liquor—within reason please don’t bring Franzia or Rolling rock, this isn’t college anymore. Yes, we get it, you’re highly considering attending this group because you’re a huge Haruki Murakami fan and you’re wondering two questions: are our Japanese American patrons also huge fans of the author, and do our patrons behave in a similar fashion to Murakami’s characters like Toru Watanabe and Toru Okada?

First, our Japanese American patrons are huge fans of Murakami and they own books like Sputnik Sweetheart and The Windup Bird Chronicle, but they also think the author often is obsessed with Western culture, in a way that possibly, and seriously possibly transforms him into a Brett Easton Ellis derivative based on Ellis’s American ****** and Glamorama.

Second, no these particular patrons do not behave like Murakami’s characters, because they’re real, living, breathing human beings, and not some fantasy figure or made-up person! But enough of the rant, please come though and let’s have conversations about jazz and talking cats.

While we respect Asian American actors like Ken Jeong and Randall Park, we really aren’t interested in having a lengthy dialogue about The Hangover’s Asian **** scene, or how Park was kinda offensively funny in The Interview. Although Park is awesome in Fresh Off The boat! All we really want is to just drink jack and cokes and smoke Marlboro lights and have conversations about the latest trends in indie rock and Hip Hop culture, and whether Citizen Kane was better than Casablanca, or vice versa.

At the meeting, we will have our guest speaker Jeremy Lin’s college roommate George Park answer questions about Lin, as well as a special appearance by Steve Yuen’s ex-girlfriend Marcy Abernathy who will give us an inside scoop to Yuen’s fetishes as well as his quirky habits. We will also be providing free snacks like LSD Pho noodle soup and Marijuana Mochi ice-cream. On a serious note, we’ll be giving out guilt-free Twinkies.

Before you arrive at the Starbucks, you’ll be getting a name tag and a free A.A.A T-shirt that wasn’t made by little children from China; instead, the shirts are made by Ronald Mai, our aspiring fashion designer whose twitter handle is @thatsmyshirtwhiteman! If you’re interested in coming out to the group our first meeting is this Wednesday at 6 p.m.

Leave your apprehension at the door and walk in with a warm smile, as you’re greeted by an expressionless face. And phoreal if your car is messed up and you require a ride, please call A.A.A’s number at (202) 576-2AAA (we know we’re phunny). Hope to see you there, and if you don’t come, you’re a ******* racist! But seriously come out and meet some cool *** people.
Is your heart still wild;
I wonder,
as fog silently lifts off the Potomac.
I am not sure when
the rains started,
but the noise
falls into the fog.

The district seems sleepy,
and I am tired too.

When is it time?
When did the food lose it's taste?
When did adventure
get replaced by routine?
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