Idiot Poet

Quasimodo poet, humping words to bludgeon

the inert hordes electroelocuting themselves,

that need to be put out of their ecstasy, that need

a good run away truck in their faces, since it seems

senseless slaughter is not strong enough media

medicine to jar these jar heads into the truth.

What makes me the boss? I'll tell you, sonny:

because I didn't even believe my brain poached

dad, a very good man, who believed in America

when America was already on the path of 

manifest manipulation destiny enslavement that

you don't even need to scratch the surface now

to see! Common Core? Biggest oxymoron! 

Orwell was prescient like an old testament 

prophet! No one believes in God anymore, 

because His promise is trumped by the triumph 

of Facebook! Apocalypse of Apple! Moloch of 

Macintosh!  Twittering mobs from Hell sucking 

souls senseless! People afraid of trees, a walk 

in nature without headphones, a moment of 

silent stillness sitting park benched! I remember 

New York hitchhikers fearful of driving through 

a forest at night! They'd never seen a cow! 

In Mexico, when I had to renew my lease for my

house. the landlord came over with a translator, 

his wife, his two sons, another cousin and two 

dogs. They drank beer, we ate guacamole, we

talked for three hours. When I brought up the 

lease, they said they weren't raising the rent 

because now I was part of their family, and they

were glad to have me there! Simon 

Legreelessness! Why would I ever want to move

back to my Lost America? I don't! I won't!

Sauve qui peut!