Wade through panoramic
multiplex—thickly
cinematic in XL wool
underwear &
slick outerwear
(treacherous
circumnavigation).
Disheveled mothers
bulge sweatshirts &
VS pantylines
(drip secrets from your
steamy gravy pans &
Martha
Stewart ovens).
Plastic ice cream spoons
break off the 25% fat
rate of DVD camcorders—sprint an oscillating test
run around baby limbs & untucked toddler
tummies sprawling family sized
fast food picnics in makeshift
corners of your local mall
(Little Jack Horner is
horny tonight & homeless in our secure Homeland).
Rush & raid dwindling
merchandise stock while
equal opportunities skyrocket to zenith
splurge of belch & cardiac
tourniquet constrict a tight
elastic circulation of commodity prices reaching beyond lifeless
livestock eyes grazing Indiana grassland & blazing sunset horizon—
uprooted promises soaking up midnight dishwater.
So let’s stimulate the war economy with killer
Wal-Mart deals while the president grins in the mess halls of Baghdad
festooned with orange crepe streamers & papier-maché turkeys & rousing
roustabout cheers for the vainglory of the United States of America.
All hail to the president of America who flew on a clandestine iconoclastic
rabble-rousing ball-busting mission into the desiccated (and desecrated)
desert areas of the occupied.
All hail to the president’s men who dispatched the dude with circumspect
precision like a precariously gift-wrapped Playboy bunny jumping out of a
dynamo dream cake with rapid stun gun loinfire.
All hail to the armed forces of America who ignited a long & messy camel trot
towards Iron Hammered emancipation of
falling
Viagara-
powered suicidal limbs firing a vasectomy of blanks into a
gallstone hailstorm, pre-fabricating applause & ironing out
Faberge mirage
curtains.
