War Whips It Out in Public

which may give you a bet­ter sense of what I'm look­ing for here at FCAC.


War Whips it Out in Public

In the night a war steps in the room,
a toad­y­ing lick­spit­tle war with bad teeth,

a sav­ior com­plex and spindly red­dish hair.
In the dis­tance a mosque looms big as the sky.

The war decides to bomb the shit out
of it and the phrase col­lat­er­al damage

comes out and vex­es. The tone is off,
war is a fuck­ing crook, everyone

knows it as soon as it steps in the room
all Visig­oth and thunderhead,

the poor mosque doesn't know what
to do and shits itself in a pan­ic shedding

dome and minarets and brick and glass
all over the grounds. But war doesn't

care it just smithereens the walls down
and calls it fght­ing for love & peace.

Orwell smirks in his grave and rolls over,
presents his ass for war to kiss but old 

war groans out anoth­er bomb in Yemen
and chil­dren incin­er­ate in the maelstrom.

What does war want any­way? More war!
What do we want? Nobody can agree!

War goes on just fuck­ing us over,
like so many lice in the infested,

over and over and over again: Yemen
Iraq Afghanistan just off the top.

When war walks into the room and grabs
its crotch no one knows what to do,

we all sit and stare like idiots as it
makes us talk dumb and slicks its hair

back with a wet comb and sneers.

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