And Aim

By the blank firing squad we waited as the soldiers
loaded brass tacks and high angled themselves in 
line. Filling the glass lungs stood before that 
apathetic gaze, full by the noon day's glare.
	Bitter Orange cast across the 
metaphors imagery climbing ever higher ;
	shadows play on the ground 
beneath our feet finding a dance partner 
among the gun barrels.
	All  acrawl beneath the skin , cockroaches bury deep
of the American flag passed from this British Eagle
after liberty w-/ out much royalty to country. English stereotypes
spitting on the union jack discuss Page Three monologues 
& the latest Styrofoam protests. Just say a word and Mean it. 
Only impressive once the Media took hold in a slow zoom on 
the Flash Mob mentality breaking out in frustration.
	At a country riddled w-/ apathy and unrequited 
eyeball kicks locked in judging show cycles , especially 
in ink, grasping for the straw to break the camel's back.
If only to go over the edge , finally going Mad ,
always, teetering on the brink . One foot in the gutter 
& in the other in Flintstone-esque traffic. Now 
I'm sure no one's written that before . Left right 
	on my mark, Aim &

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