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The Blue Route


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March 18, 2018


Call To Battle

Fools blather about the glory of the fight And don’t hear the mothers crying at night. The wives of those marauders on the roam Cry because their husbands can’t come home. The children of these battle-addicted men Go away, eyes ashine, never to return again. And still the moneyed few, urge on toward Yet those

The Dreamer

He has little sense of sorrow, He thinks of fond tomorrows. He’s a fabulist, a dreamer. Not quite a true schemer That would be too hard. More like a half-awake bard Making up poetic outcomes For a reality that never comes. Mostly he’s a bum. He’s a moonbeamer, Sliding down colorless rainbows That he paints

Alliterative Assholery

Platitudinous, pusillanimous, Pulchritudinous, posterior Poseur, postulating pus bag Posing as plenipotentatious President POTUS, posturesome Proudly putting paws on pussies Publicly preposterous woosie Pretending propriety: a putz. Eternal egregious eccentricity, Endless empathy-less publicity, Effectively embalming ethnicity Eviscerates any essential nobility Excluding even existential energies Of expectations of excellence Instead enacting evolution-free Economical inimical extortion. Hourly horror

Parenting 2015

Dress your girls To be a street walkers Teach your boys To become trash talkers. Why should they undergo The first twelve years or so With no solid understanding Of prostitution and manhandling? So paint her face And shorten her dress. Copy the working girls Make her an immoral mess. All that is important is

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