Blitzkrieg Now




They will hang

a name on him


They tread over corpses

of his kin


Tarring and feathering

his homeland


Keeping bugs

in jars

on bedside tables

He’s kicking it

for Christ

Kicking for Christ


Something that should

have been beaten

out of him

long ago


Too many druggy days

treating them like whores

Putting x’s through numbers

Calendar pages falling to floor


Following footsteps

And he won’t learn

a damn thing

where others have walked


As he twists

his Rollie Fingers


He is a gorgeous man

but he makes decisions

like an ugly boy


He put his time in

On factory floor

He swept

white trash away


He inserts his tongue

and tastes

my brain

Puts stones in my pockets

and we go down