if you pluck a weed
the garden won’t grow,
if there ain’t no water
if it keeps getting hotter
cuz you’re bringin’ tha fire
want everybody to call you sire
King George tha second
but wait a second

I’m looking at Iraq but I’m seeing Vietnam
and every time we drop a bomb
we look for love in all the wrong places
every phase of this war erases faces
bellicose borradors make backwards paces
as peace comes apart like untied laces
departs and runs off like the sweatshop shoe
soul-flapping, dove-winging,
waving, singing
goodbye to the lies we’re always craving

the shoe that just stepped in
America’s feces
the brown stains beneath Betsy’s
red white and blue,
those colors don’t run
they at least have the decency
to wave in the wind
before splitting, before shitting
on our forefather’s graves
shitting on the people we say we’re gonna save,
pave roads to prosperity
which means capitalism
class disparity & various asperities
private parts spill cancerous jissom
kill for what we crave-- a new-age crusade
rage against the dyeing of the white
the brown upon which we frown
the people we hold down
with bloodshed crowned by
oil-sprouts for tombstones
Rest In Peace Iraq, peace, now just a piece of rock
casualties gradually reported
missions constantly aborted,
when causes are distorted
limbs are contorted,
torn from forsaken torso
muddy, bloody sand clinging to
gashes of shrapnel
carpools of tanks maraud the desert
warpools look like red rashes on crusty asses
metropolises look like ashes
great bubbles of rubble, mere stubble upon
urban faces that would
light up landscapes,
but when skyscrapers plunge to the ground
so does everything around
the only escape from rape-agape is found
in reflection;

when we duct-tape windows
for debris deflection,
we only avert eyes from our own abyss
we fight monsters with monstrosity
fire with fire; empire of greed
vs. empire of hate,
which we need & create
every time we bait fate
and masturbate ourselves a
simple solution; The Great Pollution
craters and contusions bruise the earth
as we cruise, grasping our girth
measuring our worth
pleasured by the pride and mirth
of murder, justified
by the perjured, perforated testicles
dicks, bushes, colins and rumsfields
who lie when they testify
mistake explosions for miracles
and cross ocean lines with intent
to riot in violent violet without repent;

like rabble rousers who chuck rocks at windows
to spread great surges of freedom
they make widows by the million
coalition of the willing killing
unilaterally
without the UN
collaterally
damaged innocents die by
misplaced bombs
when soldiers die by
misplaced hate
it’s progress, nothing to be distressed
about, when protestors shout
over here, they’re ignored
and if they shout
over there, they’re shot
that’s the difference between
tyranny and war
the difference between
the haves and have-nots

you got 50 countries
whose people hate you
doing your bidding
you thought the Iraqis would
celebrate you
are you kidding?
where are you sitting?
what kind of throne makes you think you own
the world, you hurl
missiles at villages,
awhistle & pillage and profiteer
mow down masses of people and cactuses
bridle inhabitants like octopuses
tentacles wrangling and strangling cradled babes
vultures of culture scouring through caves
feeding on the wreckage, teething on the meat
desperate for carrion, carrying on like you do,
jangling the keys to a free society
and throwing them away
free to stay
hungry, stay servile
submissive, fractured and ignored
by the contractors who will cynically afford
reconstruction, after they fail to find
your weapons of destruction
of destraction from the real actions and transactions
that go down when dick-suction transpires
behind the curtains at Halliburton
after they fail to unwind
conflict from interest, they bind
profit to despair, they equate
freedom to privatization, they perpetuate
the hate that harkens fate, they fail
to set sutures and make severance
for the incisions and severings engraved on a culture
they will grind
Muslim minds into flesh, cheap labor
money-savers, privatized, utilized
democratized by mockeries of
patronizing provincial government
that only answers to
Uncle Sam
Uncle Tom
and thanks him for droppin’
all them bombs
all those coffins
as oil is transformed
into money and pollution
and the blackness spreads
over the red
like an unholy revolution.