Poetry for St. Patty’s!

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.

vomit.