In a town
Bled by
The ghosts
And echoes
Of
Jazz,
The feds have
Shut everything down.
Government is not around,
But congress is cutting into
A
Newly bled,
New fangled cooked piece of
Meat laughing
Over
Fresh scotch
As us ants out here
Slowly trudge from
One fruit rhine to the next.
With no grudge about
To
Be slayed,
The earth
Stands still,
Yet rotates in
Coherence with the sun
As we wait ..
Bathing in the moonlight
The same way
As we would the sun ..
Feeling the same rays.
So,
The only real thing do to now
Is to not vote on election day,
Yet show up with
Petition in hand
To start firing
The
Upper crust
That have no
Real flavor
In this
American meat pot pie.
