ww3 blues (an excerpt)
So this a long, epic poem I have been working on for a number of years. its grown to about 10 typed pages now. its continually being added to, taken apart, edited, and glanced over by myself. This is actually the ending of the poem. I have never really shared it with anyone until now. Its all done- its like a magnum opus for me. 5 years of dedication to one silly piece of writing. Enjoy.
Don't laugh,
when gumshoes carrying heat talk to your high school teacher about that incendiary term paper,
when they use thermal imaging on your former Communist Party member grandfather who thought he'd put all that behind him,
when your 18-year-old son says he is being shipped off to take Baghdad & he might not be home for Kwanza,
when you have to give them money back to go to work,
when they laugh in your faces as you ask them for a raise,
when the benefits dry up, or have you forgotten the meaning of the word sacrifice, ingrato
when you find out that guy who lived across the hall has been panhandling at the freeway exit(you wondered where he got such an even tan in the winter),
when you realize that invasion of privacy is not just an abuse of celebrity dr trash cans,
when you discover that police brutality isn't some irrational concoction of a baggy pants male adolescent imagination which gets from the get go that all the hype could never cleanse their shields & clubs of decades of gore & dirt, renovating them as heroes while Abner the Haitian & his unlucky rectum & Amadou the African & his Swiss-cheesed bullet-holed body are disappeared, vaporized.
you will find out all this as you discover that hamburger helper is the main course in your meal,
that barbed wire isn't just for cattle,
that you could wind up smoking the exploding cigar meant for Fidel,
that Star Wars isn't just a movie,
that first strike capacity does not refer to the fastball pitcher,
that there is nothing they will not do that they believe they can get away with,
that's your habeas corpus up for grabs, homeboy,
that your eyes will bleed themselves blind if you keep scratching at the wool they pulled over them,
that Al Hajj Malik Shabazz, aka Detroit Red, was right, after all, I am not anti-American, I am not an American, I am a victim of America.
Memorize this, it will help you make it through the night, hopefully before it is not too late.
This will ennable you to comprehend that you were BAMBOOZLED,
that you have been a CHUMP
that we all can't just get along,
that class has nothing to do with style,
that becoming a fighter is not about pugilism,
nor killer instinct primarily a reference to boxing,
that a union is not about dues,
that pleading for mercy is not an option,
that war hysteria is not spontaneous,
that they want you to push the panic button,
that they are talking about torture as a form of extracting information for a purpose, it’s not like this method suddenly occurred to them or emerged as consensus from one of their anti-terrorist focus groups,
that you have been taken to the cleaners so often that you are now buck naked & that you suddenly see when you look in the mirror, there is the Third World, which is not a post-modern concept or something from the realm of science fiction, a subspace anomaly or the object of tax deductible donations to save the skeletal remains of poignantly posed lice-ridden, dark-skinned children, photos suitable for framing, no way José,
it is here with you in its glory, lacerated, thirsty, threadbare,
but do not be deceived by appearances, the explosion is coming, who knows where, who knows when, irrepressible historical urge, everything rises & must converge, the shade, haunting specter, its saga oft-repeated, rarely heeded, the ubiquitous old mole, knows the way out, it’s him, or the BARBARIANS.
First lesson of this school, there are no exceptions to its iron rule.
TAG! YOU ARE IT! & neither it nor you any longer have a country, or a flag, only the planet of US imprisoned by THEM, the option thus equating you have no way of escaping, ’tis the season for rhyme & reason narcotic doses of holiday shopping will not obscure the thunderous sound of the other shoe dropping, next stop for Xmas stalking, the festive greeting worth repeating: either become the arising wretched of the earth who alone determine their real worth, or just be wretched, either end the horror or horror without ending no more pretending who's world will be- at last, por fin!
Don't laugh,
when gumshoes carrying heat talk to your high school teacher about that incendiary term paper,
when they use thermal imaging on your former Communist Party member grandfather who thought he'd put all that behind him,
when your 18-year-old son says he is being shipped off to take Baghdad & he might not be home for Kwanza,
when you have to give them money back to go to work,
when they laugh in your faces as you ask them for a raise,
when the benefits dry up, or have you forgotten the meaning of the word sacrifice, ingrato
when you find out that guy who lived across the hall has been panhandling at the freeway exit(you wondered where he got such an even tan in the winter),
when you realize that invasion of privacy is not just an abuse of celebrity dr trash cans,
when you discover that police brutality isn't some irrational concoction of a baggy pants male adolescent imagination which gets from the get go that all the hype could never cleanse their shields & clubs of decades of gore & dirt, renovating them as heroes while Abner the Haitian & his unlucky rectum & Amadou the African & his Swiss-cheesed bullet-holed body are disappeared, vaporized.
you will find out all this as you discover that hamburger helper is the main course in your meal,
that barbed wire isn't just for cattle,
that you could wind up smoking the exploding cigar meant for Fidel,
that Star Wars isn't just a movie,
that first strike capacity does not refer to the fastball pitcher,
that there is nothing they will not do that they believe they can get away with,
that's your habeas corpus up for grabs, homeboy,
that your eyes will bleed themselves blind if you keep scratching at the wool they pulled over them,
that Al Hajj Malik Shabazz, aka Detroit Red, was right, after all, I am not anti-American, I am not an American, I am a victim of America.
Memorize this, it will help you make it through the night, hopefully before it is not too late.
This will ennable you to comprehend that you were BAMBOOZLED,
that you have been a CHUMP
that we all can't just get along,
that class has nothing to do with style,
that becoming a fighter is not about pugilism,
nor killer instinct primarily a reference to boxing,
that a union is not about dues,
that pleading for mercy is not an option,
that war hysteria is not spontaneous,
that they want you to push the panic button,
that they are talking about torture as a form of extracting information for a purpose, it’s not like this method suddenly occurred to them or emerged as consensus from one of their anti-terrorist focus groups,
that you have been taken to the cleaners so often that you are now buck naked & that you suddenly see when you look in the mirror, there is the Third World, which is not a post-modern concept or something from the realm of science fiction, a subspace anomaly or the object of tax deductible donations to save the skeletal remains of poignantly posed lice-ridden, dark-skinned children, photos suitable for framing, no way José,
it is here with you in its glory, lacerated, thirsty, threadbare,
but do not be deceived by appearances, the explosion is coming, who knows where, who knows when, irrepressible historical urge, everything rises & must converge, the shade, haunting specter, its saga oft-repeated, rarely heeded, the ubiquitous old mole, knows the way out, it’s him, or the BARBARIANS.
First lesson of this school, there are no exceptions to its iron rule.
TAG! YOU ARE IT! & neither it nor you any longer have a country, or a flag, only the planet of US imprisoned by THEM, the option thus equating you have no way of escaping, ’tis the season for rhyme & reason narcotic doses of holiday shopping will not obscure the thunderous sound of the other shoe dropping, next stop for Xmas stalking, the festive greeting worth repeating: either become the arising wretched of the earth who alone determine their real worth, or just be wretched, either end the horror or horror without ending no more pretending who's world will be- at last, por fin!