Happier Lands for All

I’d rather the country die
going broke
feeding the hungry and
healing the sick
than lowering taxes

I’d rather the country die
while preserving public lands
than scraping and bowing
to corporate interests

I’d rather the country die
making all its people stronger
than scapegoating skin color
for poverty and crime rates

I’d rather the country die
working to make the world better
than becoming a beast of greed
and science-denying
global destruction
driven by economic ideology

I’d rather the country die
than monstrously live

Why in the Fuck is it?

is it the eloquent manner
in which his vision is expressed
that draws the love of millions?

is it the flop of hay
combed over his crown
or the soul-less cunt eyes
pressed into a dough orange face?

is it the humility
that allows him to boast
of superstar prowess
being the best at everything
from real-estate to moving
on a married woman like a bitch?

is it persecution mania
the public adores
a billionaire commander in chief
who cries how he’s treated worse
than any other politician ever?

is it the calls for violence
against the opposition
or his inability to feel
for others
their pain, their loss, their fear?

is it the sum of all these parts
the totality of the unhinged beast
railing against a world that’s given him everything
its wealth, its land, its opportunities?

is it a monster they have always desired
an ego-centric ghoul
stealing and whining and pussy grabbing
its villainous way across the stage?

whatever it is
it is
and that conclusion
that answer
is the worst

Lunar Loser

Most all ask the same question
we hear it on their airwaves
atmospheric broadcasts of limited range
they ponder
for hours, endless it feels

why have we come
what’s our purpose here

this as we wait
in giddy impassivity
for a move beyond
begging and pleading
trying to communicate
to understand
the documented struggle
as they come to grips
with the reality
of the greater universe
is depressingly repetitive
same and same
over and over
and when we’re done smirking
three second total annihilation
and usually that’s it…

but this one silly world had a moon
and on it
some idiot who identified herself
as an astronaut
one of their space explorers
who made it all the way next door

seeing her dead planet below
she cried out
and this was a bit of a first
“Why? Why would you?”
ridiculous question, ultimately
a better one is what we gave her
in turn
“Why wouldn’t we?”
and then we, unfortunately,
had to fuck up that moon’s shit
which was sad
clean and pristine as it was
except for some red, white and blue garbage
dangling on the end of a stick

Tough Fluff on the Breeze

Every coward is brave
hiding a thousand miles behind
the lines drawn
by the most powerful military might
thus far known
it is easy
to turn impotency
to nuclear fired rage
against an enemy
of the like whom they’ve never met
never parlayed, held council
broke bread
it is easy
to cry for blood
cities turned to sheets of glass
craters left in high desert sands
howling to refill
pouring, swirling back in
erasing mass murder
in a matter of days
but less easy
is to put that impotency
into the mortal perspective
of all who’ve lived
all who’ve seethed
in unrequited revenge
and turn away the rage
before embolism undoes life
sitting their red-faced and fat
reflected in the smart phone screen

Anosognosia

invisible in lemon juice
like magical Muslim seeking bullets
coated in bacon fat
the leastly self-aware
grandeurly delude their capability
a barely walking
carelessly talking, turmeric stained
Dunning-Kruger effect
in the semblance
of an alleged human
being illusory in all aspects
of its own reflexive assessment
of its superiority as
the best, the most, the only one ably
nobody else who can
insight and knowledge
surpassing the greatest minds
in all fields
from warfare to beauty pageants
everybody run
Miss Teen USA’s got
four-thousand thermonuclear
double-D guns
lactating madly
retaliation pussy-grabbly
mushroom clouds of incompetence
sadly misfired, miscalculated, Miss-teened
anointed in vitriolic oil one-forty
rained in praises of showers goldly
like lemon juice concealing
features identifiably
of the charlatan in chiefly, gloating ego
bank-robbing bigly

Into History Please Pass Fast

When in a moment
I do not mind for it to last
but as the time draws near
I desire it to pass
quickly into memory
the will to begin
weakens under the need
to be finished
every day, every season
every party, every holiday
I want to be over
before it’s begun
to be finally
done with it
nerves calm again
anxiety returned
to its standard
semi-manageable level
nothing left
to look forward to
in dread
storm off the coast, bearing down
rising tide, surging inland
winds snapping sharp, bubbling
inbound coming terror
now a dampened ruin, rubble strewn
slowly drying out
in the relaxing warmth
of reminiscence