Lights raise
On a table of senators inking a sale of Arms.

Slipping in footnotes funding incentives to put those crops in the garbage and pay the farms.

And in bursts a mother with babe in arms.

Who can’t pay rent or a grocery bill with her faith, or charm.

They tell her, “save your charms”
“Save the sob story for those who can help you, our hands are tied to the puppet strings lifting our arms”

This is the crop that we reap when we vote on the promise of peaceful sleep and a reduction of harm.

These are the promises gone into hiding when Biden decides to walk back a reduction of arms.

We are the people left shouting on ‘mute’ because we dared to sound the alarm


We tried decrying a crisis of homelessness,
hundreds of people who used to be homeowners buying the farm.

Biden was too busy patting us all on the back over shots-in-arms.

We are the cattle they’ll put out to pasture or lock in the barn, burn to collect the insurance, and then they’ll just carry on.

We can be sheep, or be carrion.
We can be meek or be clarion.
Haunting the ground we were buried on.
We make the sound of the great beyond.

Echoing back to the chamber where all of those tireless senators stayed till dawn

Drafting provisions improving the living conditions of only constituents riding this crisis out down in their summerhouse, sipping an Evian.

I follow a man named @jtvion
He got pulled over, and he made it home, but he knew it was almost the day that we don’t want to come, but we all know will come, and we’re all sort of waiting on.

The day that they snuff out your flame and explain they mistakenly thought that the safety was on.

Half-asleep and half mass-hysteria

And, back at the table, the senators label the final draft Project Valerian

With the subtle approach of a botched cesarean.

Dressed in the suits that their hideous, final forms were born in, and will likely be buried in.

Close your eyes.

Eat your news.

Chew your valerian.

2024 you’ll be voting for either the Kamalabot or an outright Aryan.

And they’ll warn you Democracy’s up in the air again.

But how many men will we see by then with an officer knelt on their neck, while they’re gasping for air again?

And the pig on their back is a dog of the state, whose purpose is just to Attack and he knows that fact, and it makes him invincibly arrogant.

Rabid as all of the fascists you train in your barracks and garrisons

Timeless, indeed, like the Christian need to dehumanize those that they view as beneath them

Same old song that we sang to the Saracen

And you were Today Years Old when you learned that, for all this time, WE were the actual terrorists.

We were the source of those flawlessly crafted disparaging narratives

We’ve sent presidents, here and abroad, into absolute power, or off to meet god,
to arrange all these corporate marriages

I was mistaken to call it ‘Tradition’,
this is American Heritage.

This is the land where they lighten your language
Pick apart all of your paragraphs
gut every lyric of leverage

Smaller than all of those flecks of valerian they sent adrift in your beverage

Each word I write that tries shedding some light on the pig they portray as a presidential paragon

Every word I write regarding Biden,
He whose Sable arms,
Blacker than the purpose of the warships
In the Naval yard,
Orchestrate our fate to try to sate the thirst of Raytheon
Blacker than the Water that we used to flood Iraq , and trickled into Libya so Hilary could open up nice global slave bazaar, that we’ll return to sack, and Pat ourselves all on the back, because we liberated Libya; the slaves are gone!

But what we didn’t know until today was that all of the slaves they said we saved are really on a plane, and they’re halfway to gitmo

We interrupt this story due to Kamala arriving in her limo with her Timbs on, and that’s all your need-to-know info.

This is a historic day, and you can say you saw it
with the last of all your energy, cause you were busy starving.

Staring at the roast that the senators were carving

To celebrate a bill that faced no opposition in Congress

To cut back your heat and your lights at a time when the nights are their longest

And if you don’t know the tune that they sing by name, after the grave, the Saracen can tell you what the song is.

They’ll tell you that it’s loudest where the smell of the valerian is strongest.

Where they turn around and make an arms deal after promising an armistice

Where the workers get the wall, and the scabs solve stoppages

Take it up with Congress and their fortified offices, blocked by riot cops who’d love to stand on your esophagus cause that’s what they’ve been training for and told equates to competence

You brought it on yourself by refusing your Valerian.

You brought it on yourself when you hesitated giving us your child for experiments.

You brought it on yourself by denying your family exposure to all our new variants.

You brought it on yourselves,
it’s American Heritage.

You brought it on yourselves,
It’s American Heritage.