A demagogue is loose upon the land.
Draw fast the curtains and switch off the light,
Mothers keep your children close at hand.

What is that odd footprint in the sand?
What sloughed skin glistens in the night?
A demagogue is loose upon the land.

Mark well that stranger tall and tanned
Whose smile conceals white teeth that bite.
Mothers keep your children close at hand.

O do not accede to his demand,
Prepare instead for instant flight.
A demagogue is loose upon the land.

Things may not go as we have planned,
The world feigns deafness to our plight.
Mothers keep your children close at hand.

We've felt the breath, observed the occult brand,
Now all the facts assemble in plain sight:
A demagogue is loose upon our land.
Mothers keep your children close at hand.

reaching the back of you

not sure I could.      not sure i would.
       scent of the crime uncommitted uncovered

the meandering is the man demigod demagogue taking
time
         pleasured mercy
                                         the remaindered searchingly
                                                                ­                                 suffices

you don’t speak plain english the only tongue i got
insert the coin in your slot commencing researching the
way in and
don’t think i want to find the way out to the
back of you hiding in the inside learning the way you visualize


playing amy winehouse as an overlaying graph to the autoroute
to the south of france, sur-la-mer, why ever leave and you come
in my mouth poems new each time

no exit. no back of you.  stuck in a longingly heaven

this house is my home and I know the sun brightest
when i put my coin in the slot of play and press the
new tune button at 4:10AM

PARNELL'S FUNERAL

UNDER the Great Comedian's tomb the crowd.
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
Brightness remains; a brighter star shoots down;
What shudders run through all that animal blood?
What is this sacrifice? Can someone there
Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a star?
Rich foliage that the starlight glittered through,
A frenzied crowd, and where the branches sprang
A beautiful seated boy; a sacred bow;
A woman, and an arrow on a string;
A pierced boy, image of a star laid low.
That woman, the Great Mother imaging,
Cut out his heart.  Some master of design
Stamped boy and tree upon Sicilian coin.
An age is the reversal of an age:
When strangers murdered Emmet, Fitzgerald, Tone,
We lived like men that watch a painted stage.
What matter for the scene, the scene once gone:
It had not touched our lives.  But popular rage,
Hysterica passio dragged this quarry down.
None shared our guilt; nor did we play a part
Upon a painted stage when we devoured his heart.
Come, fix upon me that accusing eye.
I thirst for accusation.  All that was sung.
All that was said in Ireland is a lie
Bred out of the c-ontagion of the throng,
Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
Leave nothing but the nothingS that belong
To this bare soul, let all men judge that can
Whether it be an animal or a man.
The rest I pass, one sentence I unsay.
Had de Valera eaten parnell's heart
No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
No civil rancour torn the land apart.
Had Cosgrave eaten parnell's heart, the land's
Imagination had been satisfied,
Or lacking that, government in such hands.
O'Higgins its sole statesman had not died.
Had even O'Duffy -- but I name no more --
Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
Through Jonathan Swift's clark grove he passed, and there
plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.

Countdown to Armageddon precariously hinges
   potential apocalypse outcome, mere smattering days away
if the brazen, fierce-some dragon doth don
   trumps presidential throne -
   ships with whistling  Dixie missiles at bay
will be synchronized with aerial bombardiers
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
   to parlay a view to unleash nuclear weapons on cue
destroying a vast swath of flora and fauna,
   and most life forms (inn oh cent), but pay hefty due
to assuage the aggressively cruel, enjoyably
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
   growling at his goalie indubitably
   kick *** mindset worse than dengue fever will ensue
a combustible domino effect fueling global horror -
   analogous to kindling tinder logs smoke
   the color - jetblue streaming up fireplace flue
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
witnessing sovereign magnum opus trans
   forming much of animal and plant life into flakes of goo
far scarier than any macabre production
   dreamt up by human frightful scenario and no hero
she ma to rescue self or other from deadly debacle,
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
   nor any safe haven such as a cool igloo
forsooth complete annihilation will far surpass
   any prior world war, no one will be spared,
   neither gentile nor Jew
which total mortal kombat, and attendant laying waste
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
   organisms livingsocial instantaneously cremated,
   where ashes spread dispersed faster than Kudzu
rendering world wide web fetid, offal, and putrid
   far more noxious than the common loo
yet even this general description falls short to where mew
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
tinny sans hardy species (according to Google search);
   such as tardigrade, mummichog, and cockroach
decimating, heaving, leveling, poisoning
   every cubic inch of Earth evincing voluminous vaporization
   extant eradication emphatically nixed, punctuated, and radiated
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
   pulverization eviscerating the bowels of mankind,
   where nary a survivor could weather and withstand
   hollowed out no mans land bereft of sustenance or water
   where seeds of white lily when coalescence
   of oblate spheroid birthed, nursed, and weaned new
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
life especially proto **** sapiens
   and subsequent kin grunting with ah and oew
fast tracked primates, yet inherent within genetic coda
   (perhaps poison ingredient bubbled
  within primordial soup) - steeped quantum mechanical pew
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
tar nation housing crucible-
   analogous to planetary size mortar and pestle) queue
sans predestination, where rue
brick, dogma, and fealty honoring justice slew
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
by paws of one cancerous, fractious and idolatrous Lothario,
   who opened Pandora Box (rigged shut tight) thorough
lee rendered civilization a footnote
   of cosmological history and universal view
-    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -    -   -    -
BUT.... eligible voters can choose alternate
   (Democratic) candidate -
   the majority will exhale a collective gustatory whew
and allow, enable and provide continuance of the human zoo!

Thistle ****** draw the blood,
Jolt from their timeless lulls.
Candle wicks singe the flood
Of ignorance infested skulls.

Watch the fair complexion
Be siren to their common eyes.
A god to provide direction,
The answer to their cries

Words sweet as golden honey,
But toxic to their souls.
The wise dismiss it as funny
Until the joke runs stark cold

Bigotry is their dole
Scapegoats on the menu
Brick walls they patrol
If you cross, they’ll **** you

Scrawny dogs lap up the brine
Of what’s thought to be milk.
Nameless number on the line
To cloak him with purple silk.

Once the throne is prepared
And the cushion well plumped
He’ll suction your air and
Have your humanity *******.

i detoxed myself under this pale sun
     (you stood by and watched the
      unfolding saga all the while
      questioning the meaning of zen)

the original concept was lost
somewhere along the way
when i dropped the ball
on the forty yard line
     (can you recover your own fumbles?)

every time i stand by,
the waiting is eternal
and i become engrossed
in the uselessness of my position,
pondering
     (my love for this is a game of solitaire)

i am the ultimate in
irrational action,
a demagogue of dark
pathways and religious
zealotry, trapped beneath
glass floors watching,
trying desperately to
cannibalize my fingers.

i have smoked your toenails
and wandered away listless
at comments unbecoming
and salivated on the fires
set to displace my vessels
     (i have seen you ignoring me)

in the coming months i will
rend my eyes and pierce
my skull artificially
so you will be able
to see into my soul and
destroy me more efficiently
     (you will know me by the number of the dead)

i will search deep and
long inside this shadow's
shell, extracting this cancer
so i can cook up my
shortcomings and inject
them into a Ken doll
because then at least
i will be pretty.

i will feed my
chilled oatmeal to a
Cantonese family
that will honor me
as the ***** poo-flinger
i am for you.

i will cease to exist
on a plane with your
type, sinking lower
on scale like a rock in
the Mississippi River.

Mom, when i stop
growing up, i will
be the ****** loser
everyone always
thought i would
     (aren't you proud?)
     (isn't he cute?)

i cannot imagine
surviving your intern camp
after the tattooing of arms,
we will eat the testicles of the
fallen gods and dispense
great suffering on the weak
because of our enlightened
prospects and redemptions
     (what do you know about pain?)

i will place my severed head
in a place of prominence, likely
in your bed, right before
i cease to breathe

my eyelids weaken....
flicker, flutter....

i grow tired with the
advent of your indecision,
the totality of abandonment
the lenses fog, fade...
flicker, flutter...

i have run out of things to sacrifice

Trump..  what can you say,
he thinks he's a shark and he preys upon all he can.
        

His calculated bid,  always on the attack,
his war cry, don't give any sucker a decent break.

He chooses walls over bridges
in dealing with the rest of the world.

He has more than enough money,
enough to 'get the job done', and say 'you're fired'.

He's dangerous and the whole world is watching.
Another North Korea, with a sense of a false bravado.

This man doesn't care how he'll go down in History,
he could care less of any man women or child.

It just goes to show you, he's crafty, the son-of-*****.
A man-child in depends... let's make him wallpaper.

Let's show them that they have awakened the peoples
and that we are not going to cave in to the bully on the school yard.

The whole world is watching and we won't  go away.
We have the energy to become a force of truth and justice.

The Universe is watching and no stone will be unturned.
No deed will not be illuminated and courage will stand up to fear.

I’m a written and published open book,
you just have to read past the first chapter.
You skimmed the pages and took a look
at the last line to see if there was a happily ever after.
But like most things it’s up to interpretation,
left open ended in way for a hopeful sequel,
‘cause like all things true it’s plagued with complication,
but our story has no end and it has no equal.

And you, you were my favourite memoir,
your depth lined the thesis of a never ending essay.
I became inspired so I held an impromptu seminar,
a whole panel to if your picture was sepia or artistically grey.
I memorized every single thing you said,
every cryptic metaphor, every perfect rhyme.
I’ve lost count of how often that I’ve fully read,
and I still don’t understand after all of this time.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
but you need a title; what should it be?
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright effortlessly.

You were my own personal thesaurus and dictionary,
providing different words to dress up each thought.
You’re a first and only edition; what a rarity,
laced with metaphors and satire that’s barely caught.
You’re what Shakespeare aspired to always write,
and you accomplished it simply by being born.
I’d translate you to brail so those without sight,
could hear about you and the beauty they now mourn.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
no need to proofread, no cause for editing.
I’ve been writing you so that the whole world can see,
the way you shine bright, always illuminating.

I’m a prologue,
and we’re the conclusion.
My authors note; the words of a demagogue,
but the details still lack any illusion.

You’re a novel and I’m a novelty,
I’ve memorized every word and dissected them cautiously.
I’ve been writing you so the whole world can see,
and once they skim the synopsis; they’ll never stop reading.

I looked up “demagogue” in my Websters
And there a previous President was
In a smiling photo with fists in the air
Worried the wind would mess up his hair.
I didn’t bother to study the words -
The picture was worth several thousand.
ljm

The pulpit stone was gray and warm,
  beneath the priest of fire.
Each flaming word a dread alarm -
  portentious and dire.

"Your ways must change!" he did extoll
  with booming voice and spittle.
"Or hell will claim your timeless soul
  to dance to Satan's Fiddle!"

Some people who, enfeared, did try
  to mend their sinful ways.
With hope that cleaner souls would buy
  more peace at End-of-Days.

But others left the place unmoved -
  they stayed the way they were.
And though their ways did not improve,
  to sin was still to err.

Then years did pass; the reverend died.
  So too did all his people.
That pulpit where he stood with pride
  lay crumbling 'neath the steeple.

Whatever thoughts of wrong or right
  lie quiet like these motes in light.
No matter what the old man said,
  your life's your life, and dead is dead.

I

Under the Great Comedian's tomb the crowd.
A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
Brightness remains; a brighter star shoots down;
What shudders run through all that animal blood?
What is this sacrifice? Can someone there
Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a star?

Rich foliage that the starlight glittered through,
A frenzied crowd, and where the branches sprang
A beautiful seated boy; a sacred bow;
A woman, and an arrow on a string;
A pierced boy, image of a star laid low.
That woman, the Great Mother imaging,
Cut out his heart.  Some master of design
Stamped boy and tree upon Sicilian coin.

An age is the reversal of an age:
When strangers murdered Emmet, Fitzgerald, Tone,
We lived like men that watch a painted stage.
What matter for the scene, the scene once gone:
It had not touched our lives.  But popular rage,
Hysterica passio dragged this quarry down.
None shared our guilt; nor did we play a part
Upon a painted stage when we devoured his heart.

Come, fix upon me that accusing eye.
I thirst for accusation.  All that was sung.
All that was said in Ireland is a lie
Bred out of the c-ontagion of the throng,
Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
Leave nothing but the nothingS that belong
To this bare soul, let all men judge that can
Whether it be an animal or a man.

                II

The rest I pass, one sentence I unsay.
Had de Valera eaten parnell's heart
No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
No civil rancour torn the land apart.

Had Cosgrave eaten parnell's heart, the land's
Imagination had been satisfied,
Or lacking that, government in such hands.
O'Higgins its sole statesman had not died.

Had even O'Duffy--but I name no more--
Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
Through Jonathan Swift's clark grove he passed, and there
plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.

Seraphine wields her dagger like a torch
to illuminate her path—a figure at once
youthful and monolithic. Mother Earth
caresses her as flowers bloom amidst
the bloodbath. the old skulls of dead
fascists rest in silver platters. three arrows
plunged into the hearts of charlatans,
an Iron Front, disrupting decorum.
the celosia petals burn like a bonfire
around Seraphine as her nāgī coils
like an ouroboros, slyly smirking.
Seraphine works the blade back and forth,
sawing through the ****'s neck, smiling
while decapitating the demagogue.

Americans live with fear.

Fear of being found out for what they are….an incredibly insecure people populating the most powerful nation on earth.

The power of Wall St. feeds their fear in the belief that the nation’s leaders and political machine have been bought and sold by big money.
In fact the only candidates registering positively in the current Primary elections are those who feed the fear. Trump feeds the fear every time he opens his big mouth.
Hillary engenders fear because she is a WOMAN who can, most probably, win the votes which will give her the Presidency in November next.

Americans fear the resurgence of Asia in China’s burgeoning thermonuclear militarist stance, the utter unpredictability of the simmering, India, Pakistan standoff
And the instability of the plump, demonic, demagogue armed with the atomic weaponry in the bleak wasteland that is North Korea.

Islam’s mobilisation scares Americans witless. The savagery of the Isis personifies all that is promised by an expanding worldwide Islamic threat.

And then there is Putin's Russia.

The encapsulation of American fear though, is painted graphically, starkly, by the nation’s absurd fascination, obsession, with the hand gun.
Everyone has a hand gun, in the car, in the office, in the mall, in the bedroom…..some even strap a hand gun on the hip to go to church.

Americans, first and foremost, fear each other.

Fear of the fear exacerbated by more fear.
Americans live with fear.

M.
Auckland NZ
13 February 2016

we are protesting.

why we won't shut up.

because we are angry.
because we have had enough.
and we are throwing down
a line in the sand.

enough.

standing up for yourself
and other human beings
in the face of danger and adversity
is one of the hardest things
a person can do.

it takes guts.
it takes determination.
it takes strength.

and for that you mock us
like children.
calling us names.

you are reflecting in every way
what we find repulsive
in this man.

for months,
we heard every excuse
in the book to
get your man
off the hook.

about women.
about minorities.
about immigrants.
about refugees.
about the first amendment.

people continue to struggle
for things you take
for granted.

and instead of showing
kindness, empathy, and understanding,

you align yourself
with a demagogue

who has no problem
standing in front
of the world
complaining.
whining.
showing contempt
and ignorance for everyone
under the sun.
blaming everyone else for his problems.

shows absolutely no empathy
for anyone but a select few.

seeks, encourages,
and causes
division.

i'm not sure what is going on
inside you that
you can't see that.

that you can't recognize
danger when it is about
to engulf you.

that you can't remember
the cold facts of history.

when one group of
citizens' rights are threatened,
we are all threatened.

when one group is marginalized,
we are all marginalized.

you feel safe in this society.

and you don't
understand
those of us
who do not.

you do not put yourself
in the place of others.

some of us can.
and some of us do.
some of us have
seen injustice,
inequality,
and bullying
with our own eyes.

some of us realize
that even though you don't think
your way of life is in jeopardy,
it is.

and by standing up for ourselves
we are standing up for you.

we have to protect the most
vulnerable among us.

we are done with excuses.
with discrimination.
with sexism.
with victim blaming.

we are done.

so, yes
you are going to
see opposition.

and if you spread
lies, nonsense, and hatred

don't expect to go
unchallenged.

*because we are done.

She’s a dimple and a drag, corner of Worth and Magpie, French Vogue idioms and her mother’s red flowery hoop earrings. Aloha! Aloha! Oopty-oops in contract loot thru streets and backyard parties, concrete larders, her eyes lie like presidential promises, a slipknot of licorice around her neckline to keep her rising tide from the Menarche Moon.

Anything to keep the little penny featherweight dancer from slipping. Her siblings poke fun at her funny way of speaking, her bath tub is just an excuse for chiseling at her innards, taking a drag at her lungs and punching her duck-billed platypus in the kidneys; a heavy-weight champion of the worm.

That until all the saints come writhing off the fishing lines. Until the ballerina’s edema coexists with Tokyo extremists, serial killer behemoths that keep body parts and *** toys in the freezer. Here, here! Wrath goes to the fella with the wicked demeanor. In an area of limited sight, this country, it’s people are sickened at the sights of themselves, and the wackos are coming out in large swaths, minerals and dimples strapped to their waist belts in the throes of a menopausal demagogue heaving OxyContin down El Camino Real.

What the **** is Cuck?
It’s a brand new ***** word
If you’ve been called a cuck
You should know that you’ve been slurred

You may have come across it
While browsing the Interweb
And seen it used insultingly
When describing a Bush called Jeb

It’s short for the old word Cuckhold
But given a new spin
It’s used to insult someone who’s committed
the Political Correctness sin.

If I may be declarative,
The word is simply horrible,
Be ye liberal or conservative
I’d say it’s quite deplorable

The Donald is no cuck, for sure
When he utters dog whistles like this -
If he says “blood comes out of her ‘whatever’”
The true meaning you just can’t miss

Or when he said the Second Amendment People
Might take care of our dear Hillary
Of whom he impugned would eliminate guns
And promised that he would pillory

Apologies are for sissies
Don’t wait for a pivot or turn
Was it voter suppression that rigged the election?
One day, we may learn

Cuck is the word of the day
Like some chirp made by Pepe the Frog
A new epithet from the far alt-right
Who follow our new demagogue

Fellow Americans
     Won't is not can't
           We can end this tirade
                This ignorant rant
           Neo-**** crusade
      This fearmongering
Xenophobic campaign
      This point your fat finger
           Take none of the blame
                 This **** flinging ape
            This bombastic baboon
       Rotting all of our brains
Like a ****** cartoon
       This email distraction
            For no course of action
                 Except the word "jobs"
            And a Twitter war faction
        This sick, twisted joke
This comedy act
         Dropping the curtain
             On matters of fact
                 This tax-dodging fraud
             Has stolen from you
         So what makes you think
You're a part of his coup  
         This billion-airhead
             Makes no cents at all
                  He speaks his small mind
             Behind a big wall
        This nuclear bomb
  To diplomacy's voice
        Aborting the right
             To democracy's choice
                  This false god complex
              Disguises his devil
         Deceptions to drag us
Back down to his level
         This Molotov cocktail
              In Putin's back pocket
                  His greedy heart froze
              In a cold-plated locket
          This coal-blackened soul
Toxic demagogue
         Keeps poisoning us
              By spewing speech-smog  
                   This climate change hoax
              Outweighs all the lies
         Deny this one truth
  And everyone dies
         This you're fired show
              Outsources our trust
                   To Chinese steel towers
              Of slave-labor rust
        This loaded handgun
To sanity's head
        Depravity bullets
              Promoting bloodshed
                   This locker room talk
              This all Muslim ban
        This election is rigged
This ******* madman
        This antithesis
              Of all we stand for
                   Great from our first steps
              Onto Liberty's shore
        So I beg of you now
Vote him off of the stage
        This dog's had his day
              Put him back in his cage
                   This nation was founded
              By working together
        And those who attempt
To divide us shall never
        Condemn our ideals
             To an amoral fate
                    Lest we forget
                         That love always trumps hate

One demagogue, two ayatollahs,
a socialist fossil, a withered feminist.

The best of 360 million people?

Thanks so much, Amerika, for the
right to vote for such imposing choices.

I know I won't show up.

Anarchists know the lesser of two evils
is still and only ever can be… evil.

Enjoy the farce.
   ~mce

Give him a chance, people say.
Give Trump a chance; let go of fears.
The SAME chance Republicans gave
President Obama for the last eight years?

From the beginning Republicans
In Congress superciliously vowed
That President Obama would serve
Only one term. They felt so proud.

Pushing their petty partisan agenda
And blocking proposals with all their might,
They perfected the art of obstruction
And did it with insidious delight.

Calling the president a liar
And his birth certificate a fraud,
They displayed contempt for their leader
With reasoning that was greatly flawed.

It's dereliction of duty when
Republicans, the Party of NO,
Refuse to confirm a Supreme Court justice
With all their lame excuses in tow.

Flouting the very institutions
That normally make a democracy succeed,
Unethical members of Congress have
Only made our democracy bleed.

Their mindless obstruction, along with their
Unprecedented disrespect,
Is partly why we have a populist
Demagogue as president-elect.

NOW they say to give the next
President the respect that is due.
It doesn't work that way; they can't
Have their cake and eat it, too.

- by Bob B (11-17-16)

i found that only the mono-phonetic peoples of this earth act like neanderthals did: protectively... implying i had a chance with one of their ****** counterparts... the loss of monotheism in a largely diffused area creates them, they're prone to shouting drunk slogans when watching a football march: with no foreign invasion impeding... to say the basics: that they can't intellectualise drinking is their downfall... drinking is shamanic like eating certain mushroom is: drink is liquidated fungus, it's an implication of all things thriving on the degenerative, to thrive on decomposition... even those championing the psychedelic escape route with the fungus can't see for a miles' worth of **** the potential of liquidating mushrooms / wheat and bottling it... i never expected to say profound things... and even if i did, i wouldn't get a ***** from saying them as those quasis who say profound things and leave me limp-dicked anyway.

a bottle of beer in between glugs of whiskey as they are:
the most refreshing and happy: sunshine down
my throat... and with those words unsaid
but typed: how i too can adopt a sarcasm
for all the woes that un-inebriated
people state, middle-aged and sexually frustrated
from socially-invoked inhibitors concerning image...
sarcasm is all they get back...
it's kinda sad... kinda...
all i'm doing in writing this verse
is an attempt to re-enter the haunting
house of the epic i started
writing two days ago...
    on the principle of ensō i find myself
unable to reenter than narrative,
every time i think about doing so
i think of: inauthentic...
                and it would be,
authenticity and the equivalent of
said once, therefore said properly...
but i wish to: only to erased the (pending)
in the title...
   but then i look at the script and think:
i've moved past this...
    why would i want to turn a river
of yore, into a lake of the now?
then unto man, who unable to coerce the elements
sought a fifth for elemental as too sensory
encapsulation and boundary,
   lightning being the fifth element...
candles v. light-bulbs, right?
       for too long the tetra-said-and-tetra-experienced...
or toward encapsulating man in
     water (creativity)
       and within wind (empty talk)
          as with earth (proverbs)
so too with fire (rhetoric)
                    so too with lightning (genius),
how i wish to have been able to write those
belittling notes down in industrial print
away from what would be considered
mindless sketching: that is why industrialisation
of print has created a medium of uniformity,
but also the Picasso's worth of hand-craftship
in what appeared at Belshazzar's feast in
the invention of late, western origination of graffiti:
******* rebel. can anyone else imagine
saying something like that, instead of asking
us why the flu or the tapeworm exists?
       the re-, the one true unfathomable monstrosity
apart from the logic of moving from point A to
point B... the re-, the one true unfathomable
monstrosity that burdens us all: who are rested...
the repetitive dream when we are instilled into
lying back and unconscious...
   for the blinking of the eye: and what is sight...
     for the first oyster gulped wriggling down
our oesophagus, alive,
    to the second and third, on a date with a lovely
   at Harrods... for all that re- is, without the -s,
it can only be a thing...                        as
thus said: that ancient curse of the vampiric
insatiable thirst to continue: under whatever circumstance,
repeat, replicate... oh the woe of the re-
                         as to be endured, heard, seen, felt, tasted...
with the demagogue all suicides rebel against:
master pro, master pro,
         who ***** his re *****, who ***** his re *****
in all of us: as transcendental genetics might not teach
us... bound to only escape such a formula,
staging ourselves within the groundwork of
the pre formulae; or how i can understand true will,
or the existence of will, as only a suicide might
investigate: to take death into his ***** and say:
for what will continue in me is but mere an apathy
of submission, but if i take death to the dancefloor,
i will truly find death's master: for in old age i will
not find wisdom, but merely the plagiarism of
childhood with less haste: to chase, to hide, to speak...
i find old age as not blessing with that childhood
already was... let me take death to the dancefloor,
on the seabed, in the hands of a hurricane,
         in the sunken sockets of gravity...
       please, here, in the crescendo of what i feel,
rather than in a congregation of mourners who
weep only in the thespian courtesy for others.
suicide? that is what i understand as true will -
              man, bacterium infernum: lost within
a blinking of an eye - within which all fates of things
freeze, undisturbed, as if alive and relentlessly blooming,
for within them an untrodden path and
within them a hand that never endured tilling as
a scythe... of that Edenic hope: to live among
the less mechanised things and in turn be a lessened
replica of that mecha-...           should this be seen
as an encouragement? too long has the asylum been
romanticised...
                    few have ventured to romanticise
the eventuality of Camus' culmination...
of what had to become the *sole question...
          hence the taboos... people demand to think
that certain cognitive states are akin to viral infections...
   as if all those bound to the unexplained are
pulverising leprosy to the general public...
   a common trait, among neanderthals.

they whisper in reverent tones
on the television,
hushed, in awe,
struck dumb
by the images
of fifty-nine tomahawk cruise missiles
a flaccid, wanna-be-strongman
just launched at Syria,
a country whose refugees
and babies we'd rather see
washed-up on the sands
of foreign lands than safely
at peace in our homeland.

Brian Williams calls
the spectacle, "beautiful."
sociopathic pundits in ecstasy,
spewing meek excuses
like babbling baboons, buffoons
lusting for an **** of nihilistic violence.
they invoke their dead gods,
beseech the "Almighty" to bless
their bloodstained hands,
and say this is how a demagogue
acts presidential.

beat the war drums in quick succession.
about face in a new direction.
left, left, left, right, left.
it doesn't matter who sits
in the Oval Office, war
makes America great again,
boosting administrative approval ratings
and corporate coffers, revenue soaring
like sky-rocketing jet-fuel.

we cannot pummel the world
into submission with munitions,
but that won't stop us from trying.
planting early graves
like seeds in the ground,
bearing fruit that spoils
and keeps this whole sick joke
spinning perpetually around.
we **** people who **** people
because killing people is wrong.
what i'd give to wake
to a world not torn
apart by war.

I don't want to work for you,
fake a smile in this costume,
I don't want another day
of a boring job and ****** pay.

And I don't believe in G-d,
no TV expert or demagogue,
promising a different way,
it's the same formulaic play.

So I twist in sheets and walk around
to escape all of these household sounds,
the news is spouting war again,
I close my eyes and count to ten...

...And I wait for some change to come.
Your patient ***, your siren song.
Are you maladjusted too?
And do I have a chance with you?

Because I slip a pill to fall asleep-
nothing else will work for me,
I've tried everything there is
to cure me from this restlessness.

They **** the many to save the few,
they decimate all that we knew
about what it means to be free;
doctoring our history.

And I don't want to be the one
to bring you down or mess you up,
I just want some peace to come,
no broken streets, no fallen bombs...

...Is this all there is?
Pockets of momentary bliss?
I just close my eyes and think of you;
my drunken words,
your ocean blue.

I'll close my eyes, my mind, my tomb;
if I could have a chance with you.

You know it was a fairly odd day
(As far as family Facebooking goes)
Not when there's news about  what a demagogue will say
But when you become known as the family ******

Well, it's official...
Justice trampled in the dust/
Freedom starts to pack.

Dumb, dumb Daddy what has happened to you?
Are you the same man that I once knew?

See the little girl, napping on your shoulder?  That's me.
In your undershirt - the smell of Old Spice, and your chest-hair, some of it gray, forges in me a warm and valued memory - peace, security, love.  Forever with me!

But dumb, dumb Daddy, is your mind at its end?
Do you actually believe, this **** that you send?

Walter Cronkite was worthy of your trust, and you were safe in listening.
Your parent’s and grandparent’s truth-telling and faith in humanity have instilled outdated notions.
Has being reared in a more honest time rendered you this gullible?
Shall we blame that?
No one knew you carried such liability, that your attention and beliefs could be so easily captured, that you may lack common sense even.  You can't tell truth from falsehoods, or spot a demagogue.

I once thought you so smart.
Oh
Dumb, dumb Daddy, do you get out of the rain?
Did Schlitz, “hi-*****” and cigarettes ****-up your brain?

Stay away from your computer - it's not from your time
Get a flip-phone
Try to come home

Demagogue
Oligarchic
Nonsensical
Authoritarian
Lunatic
Despotic  


Treacherous
Racist
Uneducated
Misogynistic
Provocateur

What year is this?
The propaganda fills the brainless heads of poor human hate zombies
Their hate fueled on by meaningless
memes of reality contradicting
What year is this?
I am called white guilt
Terror sympathy
I am to blame
According to the populace
I only write fact
I save opinion for the ears of those closest
Cognitive dissonance
Behind the twitches and jerks
I shut them out
They have a voice
An orange face of greed
Of ignorance
A demagogue
To be defeated