Math 114

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I don’t give a shit

About your xs and ys

When I realize the best

Option are that these pupils

At the center of America’s

Eye of destruction

Watching over the world

Making sure we’re the only tyrant.

The best option being

Unless the all mighty They

Are too dumb to

Understand simple minded

Sentences

For I fear if not

The world

And colleges everywhere

Will be buried alive

In biochemical warfare

And the largest of all of history’s

Mass grave

Filled with the ashes

Of the black

Latin American

Asian

Nonwhite

Poor

Black Survival: The Toupet’s Adversary

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Poor whiteys and their

Broken hearted mistresses

Their crowns chafe on their

Expanding skulls

Like a balloon

That we all pray will pop

Like a wall, racial profiling

like the terrorists lie within our walls

like we’re pointing the finger

at the wrong immigrant.

Trump’s Cars: Compensating for Something

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Belly hollowed out beats

Farting, raging, eating,

Regurgitating

The capitalist consumerist

Steed

Racing

Some fighters, some commuters

Some aerodynamic

Some committing deeds drunkenly

Tragic

Hard turtle shelled

Some sputtering

Muttering

Some screaming

Bellowing out

Hate speech.

Losing a Finger on Their Label

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I want them all to think I’m some radical insane

Feeding on the deteriorating morality

Of their McCarthyism

I want to be the one cockroach

That picks up the foot and tosses

The capitalist aside

I want to be the procommunist

                                Procapitalist

That everyone can find a piece to hate

Labels are like diseases

Slowly you watch pieces

You once cherished fall and

Rot from the bone

As one conforms and

Three murders two,

Only four three to find

He’s been played

By the all powerful five

The Blood’s Still Dry

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I am the Tambourine man

Wildly dancing in the street

For the change falling on the sidewalk

Through the hole in your pocket

I am the clown

With the flattened, depressed face paint

Preying off of the sympathy

Of the man in

Heaven’s dirty backalley

I am the hateful damned

Makin minute fractions of your minimum wage

And still fighting equal pay

And dem liberal’s ideas of

equality.

I am the American Soldier

Alone and lost in the dense forest

Rifle pointed with the barrel in my chest

And the bayonet penetrating my soul

I am the slot machine

Putting in quarters

Winning words, flowing from my bowels

But this poem isn’t it

I didn’t win the jackpot today

Push Pop War

 

Usa, War, Uncle Sam, Terror, Silhouette

Ginsberg by the sausages

Eyeing Mccarthy bag boy

At back, 3 point turned

Don’t meat, travel slowly

The curtain is iron

Transparent ammunition

I’ve always been able

To see straight through you

Close your eyes with shallow grieving

The caulking gingerbread blood

Faucets leak slowly

Apocapic ending whirl,

Annihilation transmitted to

A black polo

Cornstalk curdling

Digest different

Delay departure.

Ghosts in the tea party

Gum reduction surgery

And Arian dentures.

Detrite, Damascus

Finger nails

Like the escorts tail

The peacock’s feathers

To slit your wrists by.

Ruffled lipids

And the win ripples

Over sewage prairie

Stalks the stinking

Smiles

On the brown

Handled

Tending the field

Kingdom

What segregation
Can they enforce through media made minds?
While sweat shops slaughter
and maintain the nets
the “self empowered”
stopping the migrant commodity
from stirring up revolutions;
committing suicide

What words enrage the privileged
What keeps the coffee from the hot plate?
While women are charred
Prosecuted for the witchcraft
Of independent, third degree, thought.

Pity the child that can’t afford the pocket computers
While children in Africa
March barefoot miles
To survive off of thimbles
Of fetid water

help ourselves before we help others
Take it from the creator
We’ve been on our own for centuries
While he’s working on the down payment
For his corvette in the clouds

Why help those birthed in dysentery
From first world waste
When you can empower
The Gods of men

For the top 1% will never be “rich”
And the bottom 99%
Can never starve enough
When we’re eating our children to survive
We must remember
to save the best cuts of meat
For them

I’ll work myself to death
A corpse mashing the keyboard

And my Kingdom
Of Carbon Dioxide
The walls of
The victims of poverty
Will only
Grow.