This is the new blog...CONFESSION ZERO



Holy Mutter o’ God, George…
What de hell ya doin’
sendin’ uniform folk to Iraq
ta get dey limb lopped off `n such
only ta come back to
de land o’ de freer `n fearless
an’ feel like a God-empty piranha?
Chopped to de nub
only ta see demselves reflected more a leper
`n a full-fledge-flag-wavin’ conqueror!

Don’ ya know dat dis ain’ de bes time
fo’ you to appear weak on de troops, even if you is?

Lordy, George…
It don’ take no brain sturgeon
to figger dis ain’ gonna look no good…

Didn’ yo daddy teach you nuttin’
‘tween de coke `n de oil?
He may not be de sharpest knife in de drawer,
outside o’ de House o’ Bush, dat is,
but he’d sho’nuf figger a way
to snuff dis one unda de rug
`fore it get all dusted up
`n cause a complete flushin’ o’ you numbers.

Fo’ God’s sake, you de rock solid man!
De war, war, war president!
De take-no-crap-commandeerer!

You bes’ git a grip on de course you’s a stayin’
`fore de whole roof come t’ crashin’ in
`n drown you in you rose color castle.

If’n I’s you I’d batten down all de hatches
`n prepare fo’ de trumpet t’ blow,
`cause dis here storm
seem ta be pickin up a noggin’ o’ steam.

Ya best hone up on you “madman chuckle”,
You “heh heh heh” with a nudge `n a wink.
You gonna need to call out de Karl-train
An’ de swif’boatin’ cap’ain,
and de bible smackin’ god-shitters
to pull dis one off.

Buckle up `n hold tight
ta dem money lenders o’ yurs
`n remember ta put on some clothes
`n git geared up in you flight suit
cuz you `bout ta come face to face
wit’ de limbless ire o' de warrior!

© 2007 thepoetryman
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