cyprian

Piss gasoline on FEMA and set them on fire
or
Don't kill Bush 'cause Cheney'd be worse


skiddle-ma-rink-a sip from the brink-
abyss-a sip of the dew.
You're.
News.
Too.

Slum fodder come God or high water,
sunburnt toddering tide slips
festering lunatic mind cogs
off of the rocking tombs'
liveried slaughter's
slim dance of the blithely exhumed.

our power-brunch bunch
punchy lunch hunch much,
such crutch clutch us
flushed hush-up.

Sing sung, "We've did all we've done,
and posed and what fun, yet it's time to run,
not habit, the nun,
and noon though it sinks must follow the sun,
not naught for the cost of the shit that we've bought
needs store 'fore the snowin' she comes."

Photo-genius face, charitearful embrace,
receipt for the good that they've done.
The hero whilom went way to where-from
while native son-dered
twain blight, twin hunger
thunder palled, sown under
loam, slumbering
growth.