“The Genes of American Decay”

In a country of senseless killings,
And brutal overseas domination
“There’s no place for this kind of violence,”
A senile president says
After the failed assassination of a burgeoning fascist.
The veneer of prayer is like the blood on the ear,
A barbaric sign of sanctioned irrationality
Twisting hatred into the divine.
The underlying ill will split the people inside,
Tuned to the dominant civility that is ongoing genocide.
They have no aim. These states cannot unify
Beyond the delusional equity that all
Are burning equally in the collapse of our home
Or the bulldozing of homeless camps,
Although that is clearly a lie.
Your myths are drenched in the glory of war,
Your conspiracy ideologies believe in the necessity of apocalypse.
Yet all must pray, and unite
in all being fascists today. 



“No Time For A Peon, Hey Protean Mag?”

How are art
And politics the same?
For a start
Think of the nature of fame.

Each one the privileged domain
Of the upper classes
Leaving a drain
On the expression of the masses.

Is it that socialists so intellectualize
That they forget
The pillar of their theory is set
On the simple need to democratize?

Where is it that The Left will go
Creating authorities out of an industry like Verso.
Building hierarchies out of a bourgeois sensibility
Believing the extent of the process was getting a doctorate in Marxist theory.

Don’t tell ME to organize
Or expect me to read your stars
As if the movement was “ours,”
If one simple dialogue you can’t even communize.