We are not on a schedule
But we are working
Ivory skills of mastery hard
We can not afford to lose
The Elephants hearts diary
The Zen of topiary
      Details
  The good luck

The hard worker making
True buck the husk of fruit seed
The Peking God of duck
Superman of gifts of steel
The movie superstitious eyes
Everyday good earth cries
Elephant Trunk
Bring on the Holiday
The tuxedo the Elephant Tusk
Godly task the top rank

Anomalous

Questioning the situation not
so delicious
Sensual so moving vivacious
The comedy of errors
Ridiculous to the sublime

The compromising position
Waiting for the next
      "Crime"
Mens of romance
Holiday the gracious gray
Taking risks

*Gallivanting never separating love
Of the tusk, life holds too many risks

Smiles and baking
more loving
The harder you mix
    Wonderful Ivory
   An elephant is a true
   ingredient
Holding the whisk over creamed
Looking high up the
white feathers
Like a beauty, I have never seen

She loves to pick his holiday
Elephants circles the tie he's
her dream
There is no truth when its a holiday
when people
Laugh between there lies

Start running toward
Elephant Tusk
Moms homemade apple caramel
pecan pies
Conflicts subjects
to paint talk to the "Elephants"
With the dreamy ivory tusk

The fragrance of Ireland
Spicy Greens musk
King hand card player tough skin
*Holiday Queen got numbered in
The men million stars of
musk saved the day it flew in

You make me feel brand new
I never made a mistake
Never one that I couldn't explain
Running towards or afterward
Those love words
Before the Gods
The veal chops
Emperor of emails
The Cops and robbers

So modest and shy with demure 
 Holiday spirit world of hands galore
What allure dreamy contentment
She got holiday advancement

The contrast between
Holiday family love the honesty
but our government magical
mystery all bribery
Go for the tour just pour
your words
Quite a mystery white baking
flour messy
Moon and the Star handkerchief style
dressy

The Astronomy we need
to build a better
Here and the now
Wondering how?

Deep brown hazelnut
coffee royal bow
Seeing through the
Gray starting to pray
The parade of the Elephant
The day we can trust
This isn't a Fay Ray
not my kind
of town
The holiday comes and goes
too quick
There you are Rick and
his cousins
It felt like a holiday of
*Tombstones
The gathering with the finest
rhinestones
More sound of silence
Please no I phones
Shut them off enjoy the
Elephants tusk and
their home turf
Not the bluest sea
Make it the lovely
    (Earl Gray)
Bringing surf and turf
More conflicts those predictions
More spiritual afflictions

Just find your peace within
His Elephant pants win
You got the whole tusk
in your hand
"Snow White Huntsman"
Affection like a
housewarming
My holiday transformation

Neon Lion light of crystal ball
The spiritual Tree elephant
Touched a part of me the art
All the fine elements bring
us closer, not the copy
of an imposter

Something to smile about
The myriad
The full length of the camera
The Elephants has a heart
no drama
Flying so Ivory gown sheer
Moms roast will not
come next year
Red devil computer
Telling me there are
Ghostbusters and
travel gliders
I am the true
Elephant lover
More homestayers
music players

Men looking astronomically
Feeling silly
in their whiskers
The world is horrifying
But there is no denying
more praying
Her heart is very thick
Elephant skin close to her
heart is luck
What is happening
to our economy
The sad thing people are selling
Elephant's
Tusk for money we need
to stop this

Lucky Elephant tusk is
turning to good luck
We pray for the world
Holy bless

No legacy is as rich as honesty to leave behind
No asset is as great as honesty that enriches mind
No voice is as powerful as honesty,your heart to guide
No word is as meaningful as honesty to swell with pride.

One who adheres to principle and facts , is honest
One who loves for-what-than-who-you are , is honest
One who inspires to be fearless and upfront , is honest
One who dares to raise voice against injustice, is honest

In actions ,words and dealings -be  clear and  transparent
Corruption,bribery,flattery and nepotism-be always against
Greats endure pain to follow righteousness,however difficult
On life’s tight walk ,do not crave to strike rich without sweat.

Win over lies,deceit ,treachery with love,respect and fair play
Honesty is a jewel that shines-shines brighter,rest fades away
Honesty is a bitter pill to gulp,gulp you must to lead the way
Quality than Quantity of life matters most,at the end of the day.

A child should be taught to be honest at a very early age
Set an example by emoting honesty at every step and stage
Honesty instils compassion ,concern,credibility and courage
It is a  virtue that differentiates between a devil and a sage.

Stakes may be high ,don’t ever compromise on values
A Right can never ever be Wrong ,however one views
Forever under HIS scanner,keep hands clean and heart true (HIS ...GOD)
Give best to the humanity the best will come back to you.
(C) Bhargavi Ravindra ...........B’lore
            Dated  : 09/05/2019

Habits
Gluttony
Greed
Bribery
Lustfulness

Passed down
Generation
After generation
After generation
After generation
Okay, I get it, it get it
You get it, you get it.

Let's get personal
Born set up for failure
My statistics not looking bright
First baby born of color born into
A family of strictly whites

Grandmother beat my mother
When she discovered
The life forming inside of her
Was half black -
Don't cry mother, or I'll whither
Inside of you.

I grew and grew
Taught lies upon lies
About myself
The other half of me.

The only love I knew was of my mother.
There was no other -
Until she started to take it out on me

Habits
Passed
From generation upon generation.

She was sick and tired of being
Sick and tired
Stomped to the ground due to her
Kindness
Abused emotionally due to her
Selfless-ness
Mistreated physically due to her
Weakness
She took it out on me.

Cornered me to a wall
Choked me up
Laughing - she couldn't get enough
Of the amusement of my pain
All done in vain
Because she couldn't stop the strain
Put on her brain.

Scarring my face
Pulling my hair
Public places
Not a care -

Kicking
Scratching
Pulling
Biting
The agony
The hate
The battle wounds
The hurt
The scars -
On my heart.

Habits
Passed from generation
To generation
To generation

I was sick on the inside
My heart - suffering -
never ending bleeding
My brain
Psychologically ill
Flashbacks
I locked myself up in my room
Head in pillow
Screaming louder than your annoying baby sister who throws her unnecessary temper tantrums

In the middle of the night.
I tied myself up mentally
Stuck
Self-hate
Self-abuse
Self-hurt

In the sixth grade I to myself -
I wanted going to ****
And my victim was myself.
Filled with the poison - I was ill
Injected with self-hate
Hated my family
Hated all my traits
Hated all forms of humanity.

Habits
Passed
From generation to generation
To generation.

Players,
Upon people’s weaknesses they play.
Tramplers,
Upon people’s happiness they trample upon.

They preach,
Oh they preach,
Preachers of men,
Preaching their manifestos.

Their mass oppressions,
A whipstroke of slavery,
Keeping freedom away,
Allowing unspoken speeches.

Mr. Government!
Your planting of truth,
Yet acting lies,
Like Lucifer upon earth.

Our lost lands,
The cornering of leaders.
Our cherished freedom,
The bounds of greedy mortals.

Their moral compass,
A dumpling for gutters.
The words of restructuring,
A lie they tell to sleep at night.

The revolting of souls,
A bribery round the corner.
The dawn of a new day,
A shutting down of a never casted dye.

The Bantu they throw at us,
An education of their disloyalty.
Equality they preach,
Yet enjoying the fruits of our labour.

Our heroes past,
A burden dropped,
To be forgotten,
Yet remembered for belly sake.

Me, My belly and I,
A stomach infrastructure,
Catering only to the rich,
Yet diminishing the poor.

The controllers of affairs,
Dictating one’s future
Offering obedient slaves,
A slaughtering for their ****** souls.

Their theatre signatory,
A passing for comedy.
Our leaders,
A legacy of betrayal.

The citations of a bad fruit,
Their forever plantings,
Bringing over odour,
Of sadness and slavery.

An act of niceness,
Yet taking my bones at every given chance.
Giving us no choice,
Yet claiming we have no bounds.

Stirring us along
Giving us hope
Talking of a bright light,
Yet sinking in your treacherous torture.

Stealing of freedom from our lips
Pushing us into the dark quarters
Digging our early graves,
Yet cometh like a Redeemer.

Telling us of your democracy,
Yet ripping off our fundamental rights.
Your dictatorship,
Creating our unfree society.

Coming out,
Telling us of our victorious times,
A bribery to generations,
Yet helping to dig out graves.

Giving heart-warming patriotic speeches
Telling us not to be afraid,
Portraying tunnels of hope,
A bribery we didn’t reject.

Your illusion of a god-complex
Crushing everything in your path
Giving false hope
A mockery we carry on our foreheads

Our daily tyrants,
Walking freely,
Taking slaves,
Yet leaving no man to rise.

We envisaged a better tomorrow
Leaving the past behind
Creating new dreams
A dream you cut short

Our pens as placards
Establishing dictatorship
Safeguarding a revolution
Writing hopes of tomorrow

Your speeches
Bringing apathetic graves
Letting out your brutality
Showing life’s forces

You stand on the hill
Shouting your command
We all gather in fear
Singing silently “dictatorship free us now”

Written by Tosan Oluwakemi Thompson

i come from a long line of muses.
beauty contests won by bribery
and bravery. i was taught that the
way to a man’s heart is through
the ******* ribcage. there is no time
to play house. the daughter of dimitra,
i’ll take a pomegranate martini and
6 months in hell. you said you had a
nightmare that i would **** you in your
sleep. my darling, i only want to make
your dreams come true.

this makeshift democracy
yearning endearing
breeding festering aristocracy
petrified on the sidelines

black hispanic asian european
the manifesting minority
which built this republic
political policy withered to marrow

echoes of Washington
fade in graves marble halls
politicians etches unsheathed
to feast in bribery sorts

the gleam of monetary value
blinded patched pockets
burning the fabric
to be later devoured

Where, oh where has this money been?
It's been up to London to buy me a woman.
When you'd had your pleasure, what else did you there?
Took in a live show, some sights to enjoy.
When you had seen, what did you then?
Went home to the wife, a yarn to spin.
Did you not waste such hard-earned cash?
I need the excitement, the seedy thrill.

Where, oh where has this money been?
Changed hands in a back street for needle and syringe.
What was then done to inject some feeling?
A little ******, just to keep me going.
But what about AIDS and ***?
It's one of those things that won't happen to me.
How do you finance such expensive tastes?
Sell stuff to kids at the going rate.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It bought me a meal and a little something to drink.
How did you earn this financial gain?
Begged it off some geezer down the Embankment.
Why are you out here sleeping so rough?
It's a long tale of women, gambling and drink.
What of these others with whom you share this door?
Just poor bleeding kids with no ******* jobs.

Where, oh where has this money been?
It bought me a contract with a few back handers.
And who did you bribe for their deceit?
Oh, it wasn't bribery, just a little commercial grease.
What will you build to make your mark?
Another block of flats, fully air-conditioned.
On what in the past is your empire built?
Prostitution, gambling, and a few tons of drugs.

How far is it?
How far is it now?
The gigantic gorilla interior
Of the wheels move, they appall me ---
The terrible brains
Of Krupp, black muzzles
Revolving, the sound
Punching out Absence! Like cannon.
It is Russia I have to get across, it is some was or other.
I am dragging my body
Quietly through the straw of the boxcars.
Now is the time for bribery.
What do wheels eat, these wheels
Fixed to their arcs like gods,
The silver leash of the will ----
Inexorable. And their pride!
All the gods know destinations.
I am a letter in this slot!
I fly to a name, two eyes.
Will there be fire, will there be bread?
Here there is such mud.
It is a trainstop, the nurses
Undergoing the faucet water, its veils, veils in a nunnery,
Touching their wounded,
The men the blood still pumps forward,
Legs, arms piled outside
The tent of unending cries ----
A hospital of dolls.
And the men, what is left of the men
Pumped ahead by these pistons, this blood
Into the next mile,
The next hour ----
Dynasty of broken arrows!

How far is it?
There is mud on my feet,
Thick, red and slipping. It is Adam's side,
This earth I rise from, and I in agony.
I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.
Steaming and breathing, its teeth
Ready to roll, like a devil's.
There is a minute at the end of it
A minute, a dewdrop.
How far is it?
It is so small
The place I am getting to, why are there these obstacles ----
The body of this woman,
Charred skirts and deathmask
Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.
And now detonations ----
Thunder and guns.
The fire's between us.
Is there no place
Turning and turning in the middle air,
Untouchable and untouchable.
The train is dragging itself, it is screaming ----
An animal
Insane for the destination,
The bloodspot,
The face at the end of the flare.
I shall bury the wounded like pupas,
I shall count and bury the dead.
Let their souls writhe in like dew,
Incense in my track.
The carriages rock, they are cradles.
And I, stepping from this skin
Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces

Step up to you from the black car of Lethe,
Pure as a baby.

In this trouble torn. Grief stricken world
Only music  embalm my aching soul
When corruption and bribery are the order of the day
Goons and rowdies show me the real way
Even the judges succumb to dishonesty
Morals and ethics have lost their identity
The veena, the flute, the clarinet, the drums
And the guitar make a soothing effect to my ears
When there is   incredible symphony
The distinction between East
And west is totally lost
Only peace and harmony forever last

Music is more intoxicating than vine
It is undoubtedly divine
There is music in the blowing wind,
Flowing stream, chirping of birds,
The hissing of  snakes,
The bleating of a goat
And the beating of a heart
And the passing of blood to each human part
But understanding the synchronization is a difficult art

I fear
others falling asleep when I need their attention,
loving those who are not
conscious enough to accept it. When
he was all eyelids and we were not eyes to lips
my heart rate increased. It whispered a
secret to me,
so I could tell him.

So he would wake up and kiss me.

i.

Elated, I'm afar from the aqua sphere beneath mine toe's,
I've been taken up by flight, an angel in the night;
A woman, a queen, a mystical paranormal beam,
God heard mine weeping, and with her he sent,
She dried mine Tear's clean.

ii.

I sniveled for eon's, with none hopeful lover's future
Mine joint's were weak, from the lack of nutritional feature's;
At mine lowest point, after imploring mine lord for help,
He sent me mine other half, Earl Jane Nagley, an Asiatic path,
Mine beloved, mine darling, mine seraphic helper.

iii.

I found wholeness, the other purpose to mine sustenance,
She's not for sale, she's not a slave, she's a cherub; not some anecdotal tale. She's not one to taketh man's bribery, she's not a peasant sold and payed for rent: tis she's heavensent- the answer to mine prayer's, she's delicate, she's an empress doth thou seeith, I was birthed for her, as she for me, both made for another, to cherish each other, on cloud nine we shalt be seen.



©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
©Earl Jane Nagley dedication-Filipino rose

I gause now it is clearly visible
Money makes the world go round…

Majority would sell their soul for the love of money
The money that would only last for their generation

Being creative is not a sin…
Copy and paste can cause damages that would take several decades to fix
Engineering was the for the reason
Though poor engineering design can cause some damages that can be redesigned and modified

You let it go and you will suffer
You intervene you are wrong you will be assassinated
You spread the word and get ignored…

Colonisation still exist Indirectly…
Now it’s even worse
Colonised by private individuals because he can afforded
They land were they can jus like a cat

They get to be protected
People get to be question and uncertainty answer are the…

Capital city road are in a mess
Foreign country benefits
The community suffer
Fuel price goes up at the same rate as traffic congestion

Closing all the freedom of travelling to work
Depression gets agrivated
Financial strain becomes a norm
Fools are enjoying the fruits

The greedy are on holiday
The investors are making more deals
The official know the bribery language better
The nation is falling down

The grow rate is stand still
More and more labour strikes takes place
The economy gets dragged on mud

Consciousness people are disappointed
Anger is boiling
Crime is going to increase
Drug use is a norm

Opportunist are flying like scavengers
Poor government is a shame
It also affect those who are not political

—Flash Forward—

A day of reckoning.
A small boat crosses
the Hudson River,
no warning horn.
Destination New Jersey,
of all places.
A. Burr isn’t warned
that Hamilton will not
fire his pistol.
Destiny predetermined.

“Death doesn’t discriminate
Between the sinners and the saints,
It takes and it takes and it takes.
History obliterates.”

*—Flashback—

General.
     Colonel.
           Aide-de-camp.    
                 Immigrant.

“Don’t engage, strike by night.
Remain relentless ‘til their troops take flight.”
“We escort their men out of Yorktown.
They stagger home single file.
Tens of thousands of people flood the streets.”
“Took up a collection just to send him to the
mainland.
‘Get your education. Don’t forget from whence
you came.’”

—Stepfather of the Union—

Treasury secretary, author of the Federalist Papers,
lawyer, speechwriter, confidante, opponent of slavery,
member of the Constitutional Convention.

“History has its eyes on you.”
“I’ve seen injustice in the world and I’ve
        corrected it.”
“The Federalist:  Addressed to the People
         of the State of New York.”
“Goes and proposes his own form
         of government.”

—Family and Marriage—

The Schuyler Sisters – Eliza.
     Maria and James Reynolds – adultery and bribery.
          Philip Hamilton – successor son and victim.
                Philip Schuyler – father-in-law.

“And if this child
Shares a fraction of your smile
Or a fragment of your mind, look out, world!”
“I know you’re a man of honor,
I’m so sorry to bother you at home.”
“I’m only nineteen but my mind is older,
Gonna be my own man, like my father
     but bolder.”
“Grampa just lost his seat in the Senate.”


—Why, How, How long?—

Why not?, biography,
genius, rapid-fire rap,
hip-hop, historical vertigo,
Lin-Manuel Miranda at the White House,
a cast talented beyond measure,
the Great White Way,
2017-18 and forever….
“…13 percent of the population is foreign
born, which is near an all-time high;
that one day soon there will no longer
be majority and minority races, only a
vibrant mix of colors.”  
     ‒Jeremy McCarter, from Chapter I of
       Hamilton:  The Revolution

© Lewis Bosworth, 12/2016
    With credit to the book:
     Hamilton: The Revolution

Love, Elopement, Conception, Repetition
All play foully into life
Love: A child will grow up trained to find a partner, like a penguin has a life mate. But they say we descend from the apes who rule by size; who mate by harem. There is not any love.
Elopement: Since the beginning of recognition there has been marriage but it is nothing more that sexist imprisonment; slavery of the female race. Bound by a contract and traded between men; simply a form of bribery.
Conception: Child birth; monster breeding. The abuse of a woman’s womb, body, soul and mind.
Repetition: The fact we don’t learn and do it over and over again

Where, then, do I apply for bribery?
Russians are everywhere here, we are told
So why aren’t those nefarious oligarchs
Flinging dollars and dachas at poor me?

And the Chinese, poking and hacking about
(My last water bill was in Mandarin)
Have yet to pad my secret bank account
Or park a Porsche on my patio

But if they will…

I want to spy for the cool FBI
And party away with the CIA

A ship sustaining
A tiny crack or thick
Is destined to sink,
Awaits the same story
A pilferers-leached country!

All the grotesque
Faces of corruption—
Embezzlement,bribery,red-tape
Nepotism
Task procrastination
What is more inefficient
Resource utilization—
Must not go out of
A developing
Nation's radar,
Expected corruption to bar
In its bid  to spur
The ship of development far!

Needs no less attention
Fighting the new faces of corruption
Such as post placement
By political affiliation
Divorced from talent,
Which should enjoy
A greater weight!//

Bravely Burn Barbaric Books of Belief Belonging to Bad Bigots to Become the Bearer of the Bright-less Broken Banners of Both and Between Bruised and Betrayed Beleaguered Borders to Begin Benevolence Before the Beings Below Be Benumbed and go Berserk for Bloodshed .
Boldly Bestow the Blessing of Brotherhood to the Blind and Brutal Blood Beasts and the Bound Brethren of Brazen Ballads.
For a Bare Bundle of Burnt Books can Barricade a Braced Battalion of Bayonets, Block Beyond Billions of Battle Blades, Buffer a Bunch of Big Booming Bullets, Backfire Boorish Ballistae of Bribery and Bury the Barmy *******'s Baleful Brusque Breathes that Brings Back the Bedeviled Beacon of Blame.

Bribing for Uthamaki survival,
Made Kenya a fortune’s fool,
Not only Kenya but those that gave
And received bribes of all sorts,
Job favour and money favour
To make Uthamaki an eternal kingdom,
They all chewed un-toothsome slices
Of the public fortune’s fools,

They were bribed by cars, money, jobs,
Lands, upmarket houses. And all the stuffs
Of bribery regalia, and then they went dumb,
On truth and facts of the day; them; Chiloba and
Chebukat, dumb they went holus-bolus in the manacle
Of the claws of Uthamaki and its jostle for eternity,
Like the victims of slaughter in Tolstoyan epics.
They hated the truth and fell in love with falsehood,
Feeding children of Kenya on the brutality of Gebelawi,
Faked elections and police brutality in the alley of Samantha,
She died seeing the club of a full geared anti-riot police, it was
All but power of the bribe in the vacuum of conscience,
The true desire of our ages, ages, ages, ages; desire for ages,
A bribe can ****, yes it killed Musando,
A bribe can ****, yes it killed Juma,
A bribe can ****, yes it killed Samantha Pendo,
A bribe can **** yes it killed Stephanie on the balcony,
The bribe kills brutally when taken in line of duty,
A job promotion to job security fight for Uthamaki,
It kills brutally when received in line of avarice;
More land, houses in Karen, swollen bank dove-cots,
Free lunch and air-ticket windows of the bribe,
That can ******* to death when siring Uthamaki,

A bribe kills reason, mires power of truth,
A bribe fetters love for truth but bigotry extolled,
It can sent you to Paris sprinting with the keys
To the server room stuffed in your pocket,
A bribe warps the mind of the giver and the taker,
It makes democracy look the platter on which
Was John’s head, I mean the Baptist,

Uthamaki nourishes itself on the power of crime,
Looting, corruption, ***** riches, prostitution, lawless
hawking, Cartels, land-stealing, insider contracting,
faked academic testimonies, employment by tribe,
gangstering like Mungikification of the youths, insider
tendering, and now computer-generated uthamaki
all but nothing less than power of the bribe,

legerity is full in the hands of Uthamaki,
to condemn the sit that loves the truth,
fairness and justice is the harmful light to the bat’s eye
of Uthamaki, Uthamaki and the truth are oil and water,
uthamaki and the truth are as a Muslim and pork
uthamaki and the truth are an Israeli and an Arab,
they are an anti-thesis, Kenya a battle-field. Uthamaki
the thesis of imperial selfishness, democratic truth
the poor child of Kenya on the guillotine made of bribe,

Uthamaki has the name an epiphany all over,
Hospitals, schools, roads, avenues, maternity homes
Colleges, toilets, airports, prisons, barracks beyond zero,
And so forth, they all bare the name Uthamaki,
Uthamaki where are your age-mates and prison mates
Imprisoned for parting in struggle for freedom, Uthamaki,
You have stolen Kenya’s history and slaughtered the owners
At the slaughter-stone of bribe, using the tribe as your Knife,

In Maga heaven
There is no scripture here,
only rubber-stamped, pre-approved lobbyists
with tanning bed fangs
******* on a choir of flesh-hungry frat boy ****** interns
chanting “U! S! A!”
with each pharma ****** your medical bills explode..

Matt Gaetz Botox eyebrows
his floating hideous cartoon villain face,
3-D printed and impaled perma- smile
as ubiquitous as underage prostitutes on Epstein's island,
now with more ICE-sanctioned “kids in cages.”

In the smoke-choked outer gates,
a pearly mezzanine,
Rush Limbaugh gurgling and affixed  like a  scuzzy dump
dabbing his crusty *** hanky,
sweating,    teetering,     a  corpulent blob,
leaking Snapple like a stuck pig.

He chortles on an endless A.M. talk radio loop,
his triple chins wobbling like pork rinds in a fat fryer.
4-dollar cigar, 10 inches of colonial sadism,
like his abandoned family burns
wet and slow.

Smoke curls upward,
thick as ***** generational trauma and just as sweet.
It drapes the room like a  gay funeral veil
made of Newt’s christo-fascist scam money
and powdered supplement bile.
"Family  values  "  he insist . preaching,
while serving his dying cancer wife their divorce paper in her hospital bed.

**** Cheney prays to Karl Rove, born on Christmas day,
both as ****** as the driven snow.
skin waxed like Lenin, but on hydraulic exoskeletons.
They fumble trying to hoist their cross-shaped catheters
to spoon-feed one another,
whimpering ineffectually
and muttering into a  minority fetus-shaped walkie-talkie
about more  planes , more planes  needed  in buildings
over Guantanamo freedom.

Sad excuse for  moldered ******
litter the  streets like the intended  death of  tax payer missiles ,       the gods of fear mongering with  their  half      melted war gavels
juddering with every heartbeat stolen from Halliburton pensioners.
Each  prayer  reminds the weak  
"abort   THIS,   *****"
  sunday school  molestations taught
through  bedazzled maga megaphone
mounted where a human heart
is supposed to be.

Mitch McConnell just another waddle flappin  on the  old turkey farm  , in divine chin contempt and  righteous ecstasy from
cancelling  the  last of the schools free breakfast and lunch programs  he smiles from ear to ear. His chins begin shaking.
He falls
on schedule
and is resurrected even more lobotomized each time. (somehow)

Beneath the bankrupt,  cracked Trump Casino marble, the house is still  winning  8 out of 10 times .
but  he can't  make a profit.
The gold rolls its way, to
a small, out-of-the-way obscure footnote of a Ronnie rotunda:
“the  Corpo Tax cut  Apotheosis  of " Star Wars "  Dreams.”

Dan Quayle moans through a diamond-encrusted **** grill,
his libido injected with Reagan Era tax cuts
and oil futures coated in powdered Whitehouse Adderall
from summer camp spelling BEE   , 1987.

His ******* tattooed with 'Tipper Gore,' twitch  Morse code
for “trickle-down,
tickle down,
trickle down.”
Each of Bush's Voodoo economic spasms sends a ripple through the latex Fallwell hymnals
glued to his shriveled, underdeveloped thighs.

Oh, but make way   ye  assured fools!
For  thou  has  no say over your body, Trans or Female,
as
Clarence Thomas
drives his big-block bribery  Winnebago
like he's  riding  a tricycle the size of the Lincoln Memorial.

His scabby, ashen elbows jut out
wobbly  battering rams.

Forgotten...  used and discarded  like Eric
Jared Kushner ,
stole  uncle Clarence's  custom
Golden Supreme Court Rascal scooter,
denting time and space with every vow
and slow ritual bow.

Clarence drools thick black sludge over his Anita Hill poster,
legal ink congealed into constitutional back alley abortion cancer.
His gums gnash "textualisms"
******* ... "textualisms "
( that's a word...  right?)
Johnny Cochran level   "textualisms" !
his  hymn,  a   mantra
turned lullaby,

Corpses of past rulings slough off behind him
like the bribery-bloated garbage snake he is.

Kristi Noem breaks the black reverie with a yelping ******
on all fours... again
beneath a dripping
taxidermied buffalo chandelier,
a pulsating greasy ******* protruding with
corporate logos blinking in
synchronized gun-show glory.
Fur
bloodied, mangled—coyote,
dog,
child? No one asks
as she is paraded past Sandyhook again.

The plug buzzes the Pledge of Allegiance
in MAGA Morse
with a URL for granny donations pls.
Her eyes say thank you to Truth Social.
Rights vanish like the separation of church and state
in this bloated degenerate unqualified puppet show.
Mega churches handing out loaded AR-10s.

Daily   the fresh piles of
dead kids
with NRA stickers on their lunch boxes
blocking the busses only lanes in front of their boarded up schools while the new Mega arena p­lays bikini ****** on the ultra Jumbotron in between penalty flags while brain dead 3 channel havin trailer park daddy gets drunk again, and cries about the liberals turnin all the frogs gay !­

Taco  Manatees cavort
in orange Cheeto dust
bedazzled glue guns threats.
Stormy Daniels *** dolls hang from scaffolds
meant for Mike Pence,
and everyone wipes their *** on stolen nuclear secrets.

The bolt clicks forward
in  to   place.  
The Leopold
calibrated....

The sound bites lacquered and pre- prepared

Amen, Karen. Amen…

How far is it?
How far is it now?
The gigantic gorilla interior
Of the wheels move, they appall me --- The terrible brains
Of Krupp, black muzzles
Revolving, the sound
Punching out Absence! Like cannon.
It is Russia I have to get across, it is some was or other.
I am dragging my body
Quietly through the straw of the boxcars.
Now is the time for bribery.
What do wheels eat, these wheels
Fixed to their arcs like gods,
The silver leash of the will ----
Inexorable. And their pride!
All the gods know destinations.
I am a letter in this slot!
I fly to a name, two eyes.
Will there be fire, will there be bread?
Here there is such mud.
It is a trainstop, the nurses
Undergoing the faucet water, its veils, veils in a nunnery, Touching their wounded,
The men the blood still pumps forward,
Legs, arms piled outside
The tent of unending cries ----
A hospital of dolls.
And the men, what is left of the men
Pumped ahead by these pistons, this blood
Into the next mile,
The next hour ----
Dynasty of broken arrows!
How far is it?
There is mud on my feet,
Thick, red and slipping. It is Adam's side,
This earth I rise from, and I in agony.
I cannot undo myself, and the train is steaming.
Steaming and breathing, its teeth
Ready to roll, like a devil's.
There is a minute at the end of it
A minute, a dewdrop.
How far is it?
It is so small
The place I am getting to, why are there these obstacles ---- The body of this woman,
Charred skirts and deathmask
Mourned by religious figures, by garlanded children.
And now detonations ----
Thunder and guns.
The fire's between us.
Is there no place
Turning and turning in the middle air, Untouchable and untouchable.
The train is dragging itself, it is screaming ---- An animal
Insane for the destination,
The bloodspot,
The face at the end of the flare.
I shall bury the wounded like pupas,
I shall count and bury the dead.
Let their souls writhe in like dew,
Incense in my track.
The carriages rock, they are cradles.
And I, stepping from this skin
Of old bandages, boredoms, old faces
Step up to you from the black car of Lethe, Pure as a baby.

This poem took three weeks to write.

Actually, this poem took three weeks to begin. Three weeks of picking up my pen and waiting, thoughts swirling, for something to become ink on the anxious page in front of me.

And when it finally did begin, it didn't grow like a seedling, reaching wide-eyed towards the sun, vibrant and lush and increasingly more green.

No.

It sat like a rock in my gut, a ball of words wound so tightly together that for weeks no amount of elbow grease or bribery would loosen it.

Its gestation was like that of a real child, complete with the accompanying symptoms of discomfort, dizziness, and a perpetually churning stomach. So many times bitter uncertainty would rise up into my mouth, ***** fingers scrabbling at the inside of my throat, only to be swallowed down again and again as I blinked back tears. This is a feat easily accomplished when in the privacy of one’s own room, in the corner where all the pillows have been shoved and you’ve stashed a box of tissues for emergencies like this. But under the fluorescent light of high school halls, the task is considerably more difficult. There people notice when you’ve tilted your head to let your hair hide your face, when your eyes are glassy and red, ringed by damp lashes.

But then you remember you can do something with this baby bundle of words that you cannot with a real child; you can pretend it isn’t there.

So I did, though maybe not entirely conscious of the choice. All the same, who wouldn’t choose to look through the lens that makes the world seem, well, okay, over the one whose warped glass leaves you forever nauseous from the disturbing view before you. The swelling around your eyes will subside, the bitter taste of unease will recede from your mouth, and the knot in your gut will shrink until it is barely noticeable. You’ll suit up for battle in your transparent armor, made especially for convincing the world that nothing is wrong.

At least for a while.

Because eventually, your white kid gloves won’t be able to hide the blood on your hands anymore. And when it begins to seep through the soft fabric, you remember that everyone already knew it was there.

I’d been branded the villain on that Sunday months ago, with red hot iron so it would never be missed. Beneath it are “selfish,” “heartless,” and “thoughtless,” burned into my skin.

As though it had been easy.

As though I enjoyed doling out hurt and pain like chocolate pudding.

As though I was proud of the Lego house I’d crushed.

I’ve always been one for excuses. I don’t like when my words leave  my mouth one way, but arrive on a listener’s tongue dipped in a foreign sauce and spiced to change their flavor. But even I know when not to be defensive. Because after all this, now that seemingly everyone knows of the crimes I’ve committed, I understand.

Go ahead, look at me.

Judge me for what I've done. Whisper amongst yourselves about my fall from whatever grace I had been clinging to. Snarl at my carelessness. Glare at me, isolate me, condemn me.

It’s okay.

I have to live with me.

If there is one person who can truly understand the depth of the wound, of the pain, it’s the person wielding the knife.

I don’t need to be reminded that I made a mistake. But I also don’t need to continually be explaining why it wasn't all a mistake. It has been cathartic enough to unwind the strand of words that wrote this poem, digging out the marrow of my sorrow and analyzing it as truth or fiction.

I don’t need anyone else to comb me through with iron spikes of guilt. I sleep on them every night. Until you've slept beside me, until you've heard the voice I hear ringing in my ears as I try to steal away into my dreams, do not try to tell me you “know how I feel.”

That voice screams things too horrid, too terrifying to be uttered aloud.

I've learned a lot of things. I've learned that there’s no going to hell and back, no, once you’re there, you’re staying there.

So yes, I suppose if you like you can tell your friends I've moved in with Hades for good, if that is how you see it. But with his lengthy experience with the human race, he knows that pretending nothing is wrong does not equate not caring.


~to be continued~

“Thou Shall Not Keep No Pets.” they said
On our housing estate
Maybe that’s why mum got mad
When I brought home a snake.

It was very pretty really
With a pattern on its back
Parts of it was sorta green
The rest was sorta black

“Get that out of here.” Mum cried
Racing to the loo
“Get it right away.
I’ll not budge until you do.”

I thought, ‘Well. That ain’t friendly.
Such behaviour just ain’t right.’
“If that’s the way you feel mum,
You can stay in there all night.”

I settled down outside loo door
My lonely vigil I would keep
I would not weaken in my task
Not even for a sleep

“I can outlast you mum.” I called
“Just you wait and see
And I didn’t falter, till half past six
And it was time for tea.

“What can I have for dinner mum,
For surely I must eat?”
“Toss out that ruddy snake.” she said
“And I’ll cook you up a treat.”

“I will make your favourite meal
With lots of ice cream to follow.”
I tell you that was tempting
And my tummy was quite hollow.

But, “I’ll not submit to bribery, or coercion.”
I did claim.
“I have principles you know? But I’m hungry
All the same.”

“Well go into the kitchen dear.”
“Switch the oven on to ‘Bake’.”
And when it’s glowing, nice and hot
Toss in that bleedin’ snake”

Thou Messiah preaching Change, art thou true to thy words? 
Fighting bribery and corruption yet with cheap sentiments, 
Judgeth thou not thy biased - honest actions to be corrupt? 
Thou that prophesied an economy of sweet change,
How is it that thou considereth not the masses interest? 
Inventor of Change, thy prophesied words art without works; 
Even thy supporters yearn in regret for voting thee in.
Is this the change that thou for long prophesied? 
I yawn tears for the future of Nigeria and her unborn child. 
Thou art trusted to be the man after the peoples heart
And loved by all cause of thy prophesies of change,
But how be it that thou art different from thine own self?

Savior of the people, why art thou adamant to the peoples cry? 
Thy poisonous deeds have caused much great pain and suffering, 
Why not invest thy ears on the sweat of the poor and helpless?
Did ye deceive the ants and termites that voted thee in to save them? 
Remember thou thy words and promises made before being elected. 
Thou surrounds thyself with chameleons occupying seats of filtered ambitions,
Woe betide thee for thy conscience have refused to judge thee. 
Art thou not guilty of prophesying false prophesies of change? 
Thou that killeth the rosy wealth of the nation's pride,
Why doth thou not consider the sufferings of the poor ants? 
I mourn for the bitter death of the nation's sweet economy.
Savior of the people, why art thou so heartless a Messiah?

Howbeit in thy regime, hunger and suffering is the income of ants?
The marketplace has become an ocean of expensive - cheap items,
Cost of petrol waxing hot and higher amidst the harsh economy; 
Savior was thy coming to destroy or redeem the helpless ants?
Thou promised hope to educated ants and graduated termites, 
Yet not an iota of thy prophesied promises or words art come to pass; 
Chancellor of Change, judge it if thou art true to thine own self.
Thou that prophesied promises, howbeit thy words art not fulfilled?
Mind thee the poor ants and termites voted thee in to save them,
Messiah did ye deceive the ants with thy deceptive - genuine lies?
Savior thy heresies has become a poisonous venom to the poor,
Wilt thou not resign seeing thou be not true to thine own words?