dear America my heart
is a bluddy sponge
from cleaning up yr messis!
amnesiac bullets
for sleepless-eyed bastards
roaring from your guns
a flaming head of wax
full of children
burned beyond their skin
empires die like suns
it's not a fail or malfunction
there's nothing else for them to do
the final days however
and this i hadn't foreseen
are all in slow motion
no need for you or the kids
to miss a single
burning frame
my poems you son of a whore
is a bluddie mop
from cleaning up your braines
