I stumbled upon this little poem that I wrote a while back and thought it would fit here this year. I don't even remember writing it, so I was probably drinking at the time. drool drool ye investing devotion in america, a swollen country! swollen, yes i say, by oil plugged veins that slow our wits and spirit! where be the populace? we the people? when did you hoist up your fist, your firearm, and say “halt! they have victimized this nation!”? therefore i demand, drool on your heavy bellies and let it drip to your obsolete groins! drool over what your ancestors had but a glimpse of in the least sparkle in their eye! i watch as the saliva from your moronic mouths, which only declare “duh”, colludes to overthrow you! where now is my foremost homeland i heard of as a child? is it yet on this globe? galaxy? cosmos? drink now as fast as ye of hindered intelligence may, drink the saliva that keeps you afloat so that our nation, nay, our people, may at once be relieved of evil schemes! i have ever mingled in your guilds. joining you in mental capacity as it declines through generations. i dare not present works to officials who would strike my face in disgust, “what matter of terminology is this?” they would respond to my letters, poems, simple speech. failing as i always do to depict myself in brighter light. i shall drool over the notion that one of us, one day, will tie the noose around the neck of the real war criminals! i shall drown! the entire bush administration, the army, everyday criminals all join the ranks of hitler! how could they not? killers are all in a like kettle, are they not? human kind must be insane! mad! mentally ill! killers! my kin? i am not proud to call myself man, for man is a proud beast. a ferocious monster seeking pride, glory, wealth and servants! sloth, i say! evil are you whom enforce homicide! how is it that one man can sit in a leather bound seat, behind a solid cherry desk or anywhere for that matter and say “death to those who wrong my country!” for will that not anger another patriot? another patriot who sits behind his own cherry desk in a seat of leather? neither hold guns. neither will die prematurely. neither would stand for someone wronging their people, obviously. can none see the likeness? sitting in the thunder post on the wall a bill on the fence and someone will eat it, i hope. they'll eat it and be lifted and die and be one with the air among clouds striking thunder in the picture on your TV. all the kids will watch you, one, on the television children's program flying free but they don't see you among the air lightning will fall you.
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