Love the smog, says Chuck, give it a $500 bill
Even if it only handles Three-Fifty.
Dedication is not enough:
Starve, go mad, anything
but Christmas and the Queen.
Decent, Open violence:
No guns or knives;
smart weapons, suicide bombers
can have it all too themselves:
Totally Assured Destruction.
Watch them, video game Field Marshals
play it on the beach, with the grandkids, at Christmas,
the Irrational Community,
lurch to bomb bad Syrup:
Hexbollocks and Purrshah,
And wake up in bed with Al Capone.
Mulberry Bush Obama spins.
Gnostics, Coptics, and Cardtricks bluff and bully:
‘Come on in, the slaughter’s warm this season!’
resounds to the gunfire crackle;
Badger, set, and batch.
A Chinese boy weeps blood from hollow sockets
his eyes lay gouged out unseen before him on soft, red clay.
Yesterday there was a Dream
Today there is a Nightmare
Crave still and clear vision,
you never know it could, you know.
Bad lad down,
clear out of town.
Do not darken our door
bad news boy.
Come back when we’re gone out.
Sit down hard and think about it,
what you did,
You. Serves you right, eh?
Got your just deserts.
Look at you standing
lost in long grass
with toffee in your hair,
bramble scrammed calves
Hide from the passing voices.
You’re on the run on your own.
Outsider till the smell of onions
frying, then, caught on the horns of…
Forget to learn there once was jam and black
berry toast. You cannot mend a broken
heart or a broken law; fines, sanctions, cautions,
cops, courts, gaol, torture, solitary confinement,
screws, life, death, release, parole, escape, execution,
appeal, discharge, rehabilitation, detox…
commit another one: food for thunk.