LIVE From The Hall Of The Undead

Hold the phone ~
The end’s not abrupt, like an overdose
It’s a year in slow motion, like a,
well, sort of like an overdose

Sort of like you’re comatose
Watching, out of body,
while they blow the donors,
close the polls,
and Say they’ve saved the nation’s soul,
Safely from the comfort of their mega yacht
Which looks a lot
Like someone took a motorboat
and bred it with a summer home

It floats at peace, somewhere alone,
somewhere beyond the dogs and drones
and all the noxious toxic smoke
that’s in our lungs, and blood, and bones,


This island Earth,
this Thunderdome
The undertow
In our undertones

Have gun, will travel to sack Damascus
take half of their oil, then have to roll
Come back tomorrow for the rest to-go
Got an axe to grind
Got a grid to roam

Got a world to police
On behalf of the half of the one percent
Who craft raw consent
That you will never own a home
In their paid op-eds

I’ve been slogging through the trough
of bots and paid ops
and obvious fresh feds
Lobbyists break bread
with the salt of the earth
Coming to you live from the hall of the undead

Constituents unfed
The policies promised
were unsaid come sunset,
Unacknowledged and impoverished drudges
who trudge the underground
led around solely by the gaslight

Brighter to our bleary eyes
than halos made of tungsten
Tighter than the knot that your tongue’s in

Welcome to this country’s final form
and it’s soulless sole function
Bet you hopped a dozen homeless folks
to catch your bruncheon
You can keep your private clubs,
I’ll wield a public truncheon
Crack a house of skulls
that only represent corruption

Puppets made of shit and greed
that all our taxes barely feed
and all your checks cannot compete
With that sweet education budget


They’ll lay the Dynamite
and detonate at early light
and all we are, from that day on
is a silent movie firefight
A Cold War by the fireside
Vanities all burning bright
Sort of like a mosh pit on a starless night
Sort of like a molten curse
I wrote in words of diorite
Sort of like a spoken verse
I hoped would serve
to spark the surge
And instigate the type of purge
That burns their perch,
and plays their dirge,
and shepherds our oppressors
to the dirt from whence they came

Every word I’ve written is a version of my name
An extension of the purpose
I am taking to my grave
I’ll be silent as the earth is,
with Democracy’s remains
While you’re marching on the surface
for the hope of Roe V Wade

Trying to push your leaders back
to where they’d always stayed,
Wondering what made them
change their minds November eigthth
Deciding that it’s just a couple DINO’s
playing fake,
So, NEXT time, we can vote THEM out,
and things will be okay!
Try kneeling with an open mouth,
the boots might go away!

Like every politician,
whether left, right or center’s
not a flea-infested predator
that’s Playing with their prey

Loving every moment
That we’re struggling to keep going
But then, once we finally die,
the thrill of hunting’s not the same

So they’re off to greener pastures
Where they’re after tougher game
And there’s no attempt at husbandry -
The meat all goes to waste
They don’t come to fill their stomachs
Just to fill a trophy case
They don’t really like the way
the peasants taste

Besides, they’re full of plastic, anymore,
it’s hardly safe
Better off to eat their raises
on a bed of interns, poached and braised
Too drunk to hear the crying
of the ghosts of slaves
Fossil-record
Frozen wage
Rosencrantz & Gilded age

Existential pressure-plates

A Presidential motorcade
Followed by your owners
forcing you and yours to procreate
And then the donors press ‘reset’,
the villains alternate,
And go the way of Lieberman
Who skipped out like a stowaway

Now, 9/11 was a holy day
For brokers of the war brigade
and hawks atop the stock exchange
It’s Economic growing pains
for working class with taxes paid
But, past the gates,
the scent pervades
Of record- breaking profit gains

You’ll huff it, drooling,
till it dwindles down, and off it fades
And, God, it Smells like it was
worth it’s weight in office space
It’s just a glimpse
Of how our jealousy indoctrinates
How Elon’s smug and mocking face
Exemplifies our Rodent Race

It shouldn’t take a lottery to keep your place

You shouldn’t need a miracle for groceries.

You shouldn’t have to ration out your insulin,
as someone’s greed necessitates,
that’s not how it’s supposed to be.

These ancient fucks aren’t sacred saints,
they’re mafioso potentates
Who don’t deserve devotion,
or the mercy born of pity’s grace

The singlehanded scavengers of life
from every cityscape
Who wave the ol’ inflation wand, like:
“Here’s your cost-of-living raise”

And, on command, the drips that form
the righteous Democratic wave
are crashing loud,
their voices proud,
to gush and moan their praise.

God bless the lesser evil
that has numbered all our days.