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not born with enough middle fingers

oh north america, you smell like fascism and nazis, and the hand maiden's tale. i really think i should hit the road and bale. just set sail for strange and far off lands. where they might not chop off my hands. so i write with my left, and with the right, flip them the bird. Frak Earth. this desolate landscape of despair is nothing but main street during the strawberry fair and the judges come near with their heads hung all ***** lolling from side to side with a jester smile and tiger striped robes made from headlines on the news they are recent captors of hyperbolic strings of conversation transient images of carnage and rage and mr potato head flickering by like a rotoscope film they are the right winged pilots and marijuanauts in basements and in-cels in sex addiction rehab heated from the sun and the strawberry blondes they strip off their robes and with their signs held up high start screaming of rights to their bodies a claim of self governance and how they have an anti-science decision making process they are the strange puzzlement of the naked ignorant they are illogical fallacies grown legs and began marching as they herald in their latest incantation of their own morbid stupidity an agent orange handing out his own kind of brew kool aid from the trenches of intelligence gutterballs of existence men shaped like butterballs squacking about their choices made in freedom made in hate but no one says a thing about the women they impregnate when anger sucks the rhyme out of all your favourite lines and when theres nothing left of a world once promised nothing but charred remains left at the feed of lady liberty send them up to the stars where they can be mistaken for chinese missiles headed for our demise honing in zoning in droning out the noise of the common sense with a handle of a gun pressed against the tumour growning in your guts because you drank the diet soda instead of the regular sugar kind and when the small town judges lol their heads right off their broken necks use them as a ball and punt it at the net score a goal for the underpaid rif raf the rebel rousing, union due paying moderate drinking army of those who came from a school thats too woke and read books banned by the mental slow pokes who cant quite shake the shackles of white supremacy their brains washed by an imoral sense of unambiguity they know what they stand for they know what they want to stop the steal stop the state a coup served up cold by a collective of Borg drones from uncivilization deathly coloured skin covering a skeleton of sin clogging up the AM airwaves with their dead beat dramatic demons foaming at the mouth rabid with their own blood lust biting small children on the skull hoping for a taste of a brain that still contains some wonder

Copyright © | Year Posted 2021

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