cross posted at the white trash poet

two thousand and five

two thousand and five, in which a wanna be king with delusions,
delusions of sainthood, rides his horse of the “pious” to another turn at
the white house, another four years to forward his plans and schemes,
taking time to butt-fuck the constitution, OUR constitution,
wiping his cum soaked cock casually on the bill of our rights,
while his hen maid hand picked yes men, men who read
Orwell like other men read Machiavelli, yes men who tell him
what he wants to and needs to hear, that his way is the right way,

yes men, hidden in a complacent and compliant media,
hiding in the form of head shaven man whores designed
to lob softballs at our idiot king and his gaggle of mouthpieces,
yes men, hiding in the grey lady, sitting in a cell, a cell of martyrdom,
hoping to win favor with those who pull the strings for the idiot king,
shouting her cause of protection of sources and the rights of liars,
the kings men scramble to protect themselves, the liars that they are,
from the man who works to drag them down, they slander and claim
partisanship, while moving forward their machinations under the cover
of night and secrecy and “protecting our shores”,
some see through the endless bullshit, screaming and pleading for others to listen,
often pleading and screaming in vain, as the war drags on and more
mothers and fathers mourn the loss of the sons and daughters and
more sons and daughters must live their lives with lost mothers and fathers,
our idiot king continues to clear brush and listen to the whispers from the
soft voices in his ear, while the voices of the rabble get louder and more frustrated,
the idiot king smirks and smiles as his doctor leader claims god’s will
in keeping a dead woman “alive” against the wishes of her mate, against the laws
of her land, and the “pious” chant and sing and cry in her name,
and she dies a bit more with each passing day, and our idiot king
tries to fly to her rescue like a moronic white knight of some poorly written
fairy tale meant to give misguided children a hope of a happily ever after,
they posture and pose and claim the high road of respect for one life,
while sending over two thousand to their ultimate demise,
and the dead woman remains dead for the world to see and mock the idiot king
and his minions.
the idiot king does again what idiot kings do best and retires to his safe place
away from the troubles of the kingdom, for he cannot worry his beautiful mind
with such mere trivialities, only this time, a small voice awaits him,
a voice of a grieving mother, a voice that will soon become thousands and
hopefully someday become millions, this one voice stands and demands
answers from our idiot king, who responds with his sneer and smile and
backwards glances to his bespectacled jester, looking for the answers to
divert attention away from the realities of his follies, his war on freedoms,
both at home and abroad, our idiot king will continue to hide as the crowds get larger,
and the voices get louder and louder, making the idiot king pull the covers of denial
over his frightened and confused face, while his jester dances around the troubles
brewing from his own little game and machinations, and the long shadowed face
of evil that is the idiot king’s right hand man and puppet master fades from view,
without notice of the subjects, for they only hear and see what the yes men and women
prattle on about on the morning talks and radio hate fest,
the idiot king shares poisonous cake with a snake in sheep’s clothing as impending
doom bears down on the crescent city, leaving thousands behind to fend for themselves,
for his beautiful mind cannot be occupied with such mundane matters as storms and misery, the pressure builds as thousands wait and wonder what will become of their
lives and the idiot king quietly munches on that cake and moves on with his life,
as the city drowns and the streets become a warzone, the idiot king plays honky tonk
guitar for the “pious”, never noticing the world is ending for so so many,
never noticing that the tide has turned in more ways than one, that his days have become
numbered, saved only by the prattling of his yes men and the “hey, look over here”
diversions of the uncaring media, for their profits will grow in the regime of the idiot king.

but the voices in the crowd know, as two thousand and five slowly moves to a close,
and two thousand and six begins, those voices know,
they know of the idiot king’s usurpation of the laws of the land, his desire to peek
into their thoughts and words and deeds in the name of freedom,
they know of the minions of the idiot king and his crew and how the walls of the movement have begun to crumble,
they know that the days of the idiot king are numbered,
they will take to the streets and shout it from their windows,
for now the eyes of the masses must be opened, there is NO other choice,
for now is the time, this two thousand and six, to take back OUR nation,
to usurp the powers of the idiot king, once and for all…

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