Dear Tom Delay,
Attempt to flatten the earth
So you might call it square.
That’s right, Tom.
Try to put the world
Above the sun.
Give it your best, Tom,
Gasp your last breath of air.
Walk until your ass
Is out the door
And your yap is done.
There’s no breath
Left in you,
There’s no syllable,
Or verb,
Or noun,
That can keep you
From wheezing
And not sounding
Like an amoral clown.
Walk until your ass
Is out the door
And your yap is done.
Try to flatter,
Try to persuade,
Try to make it matter
What you have to say,
You’ve not the lungful
Not the breath to sway
Your death from its day.
Walk until your ass
Is out the door
And your yap is done
Take your stroll
Off the inside edge
Of your square globe.
mrp
