whole country into
your living room could
use a face lift.
Suddenly the rickety ceiling is in the shape of a V, and your front door opens up the floor to debris,
and the one pot you’ve to piss in lies in pieces, a single shard of porcelain through your TV screen.
It’s us against jihadists, the madmen of our time,
Commies and fascists. We’ve got our
Mcluhans, drones and worst case we’ll nuke ’em.
Any cyst in the Dream and profit margins,
the melting pot’s got to be
It’s the food stamp version of the good fight, the lightening rod that keeps me awake at night, a nightmare run by old white men lining their pockets with our ill fortune then torching the money just to show us they can.
land of the free, warden of
and healthcare that comes complete
with a death
its opponents starve
slash social security
in the name of
I can’t believe
this empire has
gone to hell.