This turkey pardon is nonsense,
Clearly symbolic.
But people seem to
No longer grasp the extent
To which that symbolism goes.
The gobblers which we free,
Where do they go?
To live out their lives in solitude
On a quiet reserve.
The rest?
Well, we just put them to death
Enshrined in a yearly ritual slaughter.
Nothing like that situation of the natives
When we boil off all the water..

And you may say,
"You think of it too much,
Sign to it too much importance."
But I say you think too little
And too small.
You think of all the easements
As entitlements
And not ones which we took
Through invasion and subjugation.

Dumpers
The gal with the **** cannon
Let’s one rip a right good ****
You can smell it from here
It smells of baked beans
And mushy peas plus cabbage
I wonder what it’s like
When she takes a dump?

**** Mucus

The alternative man liked an **** massage

Getting his sphincter muscle lovingly relaxed

This allowed his **** mucus to flow with love

Every time he took a dump in the royal throne room

Pushing a curly big **** with S turns in it out

Plopping into the bowl like a fish back in a pond

The masseur did the best **** massage

It was only money and it all got soothed

Green enjoying his ******* massage

Making sure he produced mucus to ****

That and regular sphincter muscle work outs

With a ******* ***** and American *******

It’s really hard to be sweet, loving, and kind
After I found out the man I love is no longer just mine.
He’s a man who loves the women of the streets,
A man who doesn’t even clean his own sheets,
Who I believed had once swept me off my feet
Really, he swept underneath my feet
Eternally cursing me.

I’m nothing coming through.
A ******, a let down.
I’m a plan turned mistake.
I slipped out into a world to be forgotten in it.
Cold, slimy, smelly, and stupid.

I’m the putty they use to fill the gaps of history.
The time between now and when.
A time where something, anything happens.
Walk on me, I’m here to move you on.

It feels as though we’re nearing the end.
Centuries before, fate was branded.
In its burned flesh we made our mark.
It’s come time to slaughter.
But we’ll be the squealers.

I’m coming through into nothing.
A mother abused by her young.
******* dry and sagged from their greed.
Fat, weak, and stupid now from gluttony.
Next winter will bring their snuffing.

So pull me out.
This pink portal.
Into somewhere I belong.
The nowhere we are right now.
The nothing we’re going to be.

I was in my dreamland.
The safe place I had made,
In childhood, to keep myself.
Disturbed I barely woke.

Impaired I thought,
If I go back I'll wake,
It will be over and I won't remember.
I don't remember much.

It continued,
I felt more come off.
More words were spoken.
People, "She can take it, I asked."

No such question was answered,
From me at least.
My limp body positioned upward.
My place gone, coherence erupted.

I was screaming at me,
NO! Move do something.
A soft "no" was whispered, and I fell.
Fully exposed now, I walked.

"Are you ok?" "I'm going to take a shower."
The water softened my skin.
The door opened. "Could you not?"
"It doesn't matter. Does it."

Aloof in the wind, perfectly poised to the sun.
Dressed in the disguise of men he’d seen in movies.
Waiting, in the wrinkles of leather jackets
Waiting, intoxicating scent of cigarettes
Hiding with teeth infested vines
Hiding, fingers meshed into the roots
Cowering, it can’t hide from a mind so sharp it wounds him
A disgusting entity , suffering.
Oozing, contorting to fit the eye of the beholder
Repulsive vines splutter bitter sap that once seemed so sweet to me