Fat whitey palmer spitting thin green rhetoric,

dead twig forrest, ms rinehartless

Believe their money not their words,

Little John!

They hope the rest of the impoverished world can share our sadness and poor broken delusion!

They hope to spread our crappy sterilized comfort, forgetfulness couches,

and wide-----screen unreality,

just so that they may dig more dirt and die in gold graves.

Little John, they still can’t dream of it!

Walking streets lined with tree skeleton street poles,

                              wearing their electric halos like the crown of thorns.

I think of Pachamama coerced to incarnate our avarice,

                              and beaten into submission for cruel pleasures.

All the while, angelic blonde girls dangle in off-white lace,

and sway through dancing fields, melting in golden sun, singing saccharine songs,

while my ears burn with the sweet naivety of it all.

Souls in the headlights, deer in the lions mouth!

                                             Or perhaps my fear is just unsustainable.

I draw lines on paper to find where I lay in this hurricane gamble,

the crushed remnants of a once living being is reduced to a petty servant of my confusion,

a servant to set my hurling mind straight.

I am drawn to the horrific thought that humanity might just be cancer.

Our cessation would surely cease the universe’s great injustices.

And we are surely far too convinced of our importance…

Cost! I hear the collective whinging yelping dog of cost.

Bills are too expensive? Yelp! Yelp!

But our generation’s hip pocket is wearing thin,

we are paying the price of those who only think black and white, bills and numbers.

But there’s no blame,

money anarchy was never designed to work,

                                                the failures were always there.

Cold war world war communism war on drugs race war class war basement mental suicide war, all those landless sailors left hanging by our imbecile fear!

We are mindless reactionaries always convinced of immanent phony threats.

So we are left to recycle and chew the problems hesitations politics objections and cruel fashions of history and psychology and dusty books, without the certainty that we have the time left to do it.

Our planet knows no negotiation,

Nature heeds no bombs or guns or mind killing medication or propaganda.

Nature’s defeat is our defeat,

and that is that.

Are we going to lose?

Or screw the bastards who want to slow us down?

I dedicate this to the day when I can breathe clean and piss on their solid gold graves.