...........................................................
Piss on the heathens

voting to eradicate

mcdonald douglas's

Debts

fuk over the pagans

raping choirboys

in a

sanctuary of wolves

kill the ottoman empires

dreams of union

like an armenian

in dusty chains

three feet down

and rising

spit on,

walk over,

dig a thousand mile trench

and bury

head first in

slime, lime and concrete,

richard fuking ashcroft

donald fuking rumsfeld

condaleeeeezzzz fuking rice

and each and every

stinking, sleeze ridden

oil guzzling skank

filled Miscreant

driviling rabid foaming

mouth peice of that born again

alcoholic

murderous

cunt

from the last lone star

to be extinguished

by the mite

of his non existant god

(and use cheney

as the fuking shovel

to break the

chisle hard concrete

for the pit)

theres only ten rules

the fuker has to follow,

only ten

and he cant seem

to even live up to one,

without justifying

sodomizing nuns

on their day of confirmation

The sniper of god stalks

the streets but

the fuker is

so chicken shit

he cant target a

real threat to the world,

so he aint god

just another peice of shit

skankin his way

to a criminoligists

casebook of fame,

but if he did place

one careful crosshair

over prefabricated

nylon suited evils eyelids

and squeezed

a new head would sprout

within seconds

and i would laugh

my

hangover

away.

........................................

y

is

monday

so unkind?
why doz

it

hurt

and my body

reeeks

of 80 years

of arthritis

twisting

bone on bone
its

monday

and it hurtz

............................................

9/11

and

THE DAY AFTER

(the year after)

martyrs bones r still plucked

from the skyline

and matyrs bodies

still litter the orchards

of isreal

and isreal

still matyrs the occupied

two for one

and western eyes

swim across

a denuded landscape

planting flowers on graves

and sweeping reasons,

as answers beneath

and islam eyes

their innocent

shams of misapproriated

desert text

......................................................................

...................................................................

despite the headline

this is an uplifting tale

of trees and pretty flowers

and sweet things

being hit by a truck

its not paranoia,

i no wot that is,

or isnt,

(if you are lying),

(and wood i know)

(you are, rarnt u)

(i can tell)

(your lips r moving)

or wasnt till you became entangled

one day at a time,

one foot forward,

one inch towards the metric system,

the century flickers

already like the afterglow of 1897,

and if reperations are

demanded from a man

in a spiky helmet give him

a quick one in the cobblers

wonder if a physician should,

would and or could heal himself,

does a proctologist

need a room of mirrors