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Poem
large yellow diesel machines coughed
coughed thick black smoke, caught their breath
struggled convulsively and after a series of loud farts
assorted groans and mechanical creaks                                                       
lumbered like broken old men waiting to pee.
Oh, they worked that day, from sun up                                                                            till the orange red sky was upon them
shivering in the cold dark desert sand                                                  
parked together like defenseless tadpoles, 
shaking and quivering in the damp night air,                                            
their job done for another day.
Building what, sand ramps, that's what.                                                   
From nowhere to nowhere!
another notch in the creative history                                                        
duly recorded for potentates from the east
who understand & see cows in the sky                                                         
or not so pretty women with tight green skirts
whores, dirty mattresses and rats                                                                  
who love the companionship                                           
of pencil pushing addicts alcoholics                                                          
and assorted beasts of the mind                                                         
Squalor is the key here
rub your nose in crap is the meaning of their sage advice
promulgated by the ass kissing majority                                                   
who worship at the altar of mendacity
after all, they were at M.I.T. and were bored.                                                
Who gives a shtt! Publish, it must mean something                                      
If it doesn' they were the first to do it!                                                       
Eat flesh and die. Filthy flesh at that,
hardly fine dining, but that's another story.
Goodbye for now.
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