Lettuce tri two meek cents of Evil Monk Ease

George W. Bush was a man
who for a while was positioned over America,
both the noble nation itself and her
dignified people,
like a Gargoyle,
a gargoyle made of flesh and blood,
lots of blood.

George W. Bush was a gargoyle
of poor workmanship, for
it is said that he too closely resembled a man,
even though
he came from a long line of gargoyles,
known either for their viciousness
or their ability to marry into
families of importance
within the
banking and finance industries.

but as a dangerously stumbling and foul-tempered,
sincerely devious and volatile
sort of flesh-eating flesh gargoyle,
the imp performed well enough
in his duties as US president.
in america a blob of yeast can become president,
if only it rises to the challenge of securing
enough dough.
America is like a great temple or cathedral to Wickedness,
which needs always be topped by scary
if not powerful demon statues,
to keep away the forces of good.
some of the demons show themselves so sadistic
and willing, so lustily capable of inbreeding
with identical stock of hateful
european devil-swine,
that a country can fall under their shadow for generations.
They become as our own national,
hereditary disease,
a recurrent throwback of
moral rot, of tendencies to
cretinism, blood-bathing, and child buggery.
These monstrous winged aristocrats form
exclusive social clubs and steal lower-class children
from their early morning paper routes,
and fuck the poor children all over before
killing them in various ways,
but never mercifully.
They would as soon
burn a forest of babies
as flush a toilet
full of ticks.



the second of the
Bush gargoyle presidents
was chosen by what is called a Supreme Court.
this is a committee of huge black-robed squid-devils
that sit high atop an altar,
a devilish nine
before which all members of society may
by proxy come and be
flayed open and given judgments that rattle through
the ages with solemn and unalterable wisdom.
this panel of warlocks and one or two Kabbalist squid-witches
draped in the depressing tone of midnight human sacrifices
has made fractions of men,
and Men of corporations,
and the gates of Hell fling open for a little warmth
on their giant flat asses,
flat from sitting in judgment so heavily,
flat from lifetime appointments
and the weight of their massive bribes.

george bush the younger
is only the most recent evil shame
and punishment to squat over
this diverse land of spenders, buyers and idle rape-watchers,
and spit hot blinding venom into its many glassy eyes.
...But it was the grandiose nakedness of his crimes
and of his dark religious piety,
and the forward nature of the way
he took all those children and murdered them
inside towering office buildings
and squat mud huts alike, showing no preference or proportion...
it was that kind of brash satanic effrontery
that signaled something frightening and new
for the world of little people.
our rape would no longer feature lubricant
or even a pillow to muffle our cries.
Adding insult to buggery, the brutish sodomite was
none other than
the Universal Fool
and Royal Cipher,
impressive only as a badly botched being
who should have been secreted
in the bowels
or the attic of his father's castle.

Yea, we were moved in those years from the
gay fattening-up stage to the
part where we are introduced to our unique place
at the table.

Bright hot chicken

Chicken chicken burning bright,
sailing squawking through the night,
the awkward bleaky thwartsome night,
little yardbird you're so cute!
Wipe your nose and
show me your papers,
you are not authorized to fly.
You will never fly.



Deep in the borderless land of Sin
there existed a man who conceived of Virtue,
as he scrabbled away at a nothing job
with a miserable look
grafted upon his face.
It was an accident and he had been day-dreaming,
when virtue occurred to him.
It had entered his thoughts
like the biggest-boned

and least popular

girl at the prom,
with
tiny
tentative
steps,
as he bent halfproductively to the controls
of his station, in the lower ward of Station 7-D,
of the Northeastern Gummyworks sector.
But at once he was apprehended and understood
to be a defective and
very bad egg.




Authorities then threw him into a kind of pit
carved from stinky-reeking red clay,
glistening with a
greenish slime.
in the pit there was a sign.
it said "We your masters will soon fill this pit with stinging
911-legged millipedes and
unpredictable plague-carrying vermin,
and a dozen or so pit vipers.
Imagine the terror it will inspire
and the pain!
Will you repent?"

"what have i done?" begged the man
of his captors, who cast long stringy shadows
and smelled like suppurating wounds
but could not be
seen or heard.
Another sign appeared suddenly,
in place of the first,
and it was clearly nonsense,
but printed in red.
It said "Gabbledy-shivvles,
gabbledy-shivvles!
All around and in the bronkumbe shaye.."

The man who lately conceived of virtue and was now beginning to regret it
read the gibberish helplessly, and
heard a tiny scratching in the clay walls
of the pit.
He felt fear and asked in a tone of
maturing hysteria, "what have i done? what do you want me to do?"

No sooner than he asked these things the sign was again replaced,
and it showed a simple illustration
of a man kneeling with head bowed,
as if to present himself for punishment
at the hands of a Bishop or
some lesser cleric.
So the man did
what most of Man would do,
he blubbered without restraint
and knelt, and then
all at once
the giant bipedal Rats burst from the clay walls,
and performed a fiendish and horrible dance
around the now cringing, weeping man.
It was a menacing and suggestive
tango,
and it lasted exactly thirteen minutes and thirty-three seconds.

When it was finished,
his hair was bone white, and
he was returned to his other rightful, natural position,
at his little station,
but with
his pay reduced drastically,
and serious back pain,
and told never again to daydream
at the controls of the controlled,
the controls of his controllers, that is,
unless his dreams were vicious
wish-fulfillments involving
other people's misfortune.

Beer

Golden delicious beer,
Murky brown stout,
Red syrupy greedy glasses of ale,
also retrograde canned hipster lagers,
our faith is in beer.

Beer-leaders,
tottering, toasting tipplers,
angle your stein to the stars.
sigh into it, smile into it,
pour it deep into your
eager, thrill-seeking gullet.
Spill some on your friend accidentally with a grin.
Spill it on him when he is flirting good with a girl.
Piss its congenial warmth into thy neighbor’s lawn
in the pre-dawn, with a heave of gas and laughter.
Better next door,
than in your drawers,
or your pants, even.
Drink it to be a man,
at twenty one,
twelve, and ninety.
Drink it to be an animal,
at risk of losing wallet
and reputation.
Let your Imp show its ass.

Beer! Bring it here.
Let its praises be sung kind of warbly!
For it leads to the wild frontier
Of happiness and fun.
on a good night,
it can make a swan fuck a hedgehog,
with pleasure,
then allow it blessedly to forget.
It gives false courage
and somewhat
more honest words,
but i must tell you
it may turn your sense of honor
into a rabid mangy hyena,
a starving, sick hyena
let loose in a pre-school
at nap-time,
biting at all those snoozers.
You must be careful
with Beer!

That is not foam,
it's the potent spew of the Original G's,
Osiris, Zeus, Odin,
and the soft girlish curls of Dionysus...
an angelic cloud
over the happy tear drops of the Buddha
and the sweat from Li Po’s brow.

God damn it don’t be squeamish,
little children drink it down.
Admire it traveling through the light,
bringing specks of kindness,
wit and felicity
into your shadowy mind and your clabbery heart.