Waiting With Scissors

We hang our heads on the edge of a renaissance,
seek only to drown ourselves in oil that's used to grease
the rungs of caddle herders, the backs of
guns and their desert men who load each
bullet straight to the chest, the lube for
Clinton's hand job,

the airport securities thumb for Bushes assholes.

seek only narration from sound boards and message machines:
Hello Ms. Lotterhos, please except this one in lifetime
opportunity to join the Democratic Party,
i mean the Republican Party for terrorist,
i mean capitalist, i mean charitable organizations.
we'll soon discover that the water isn't safe,
and minorities aren't the only target of police brutality:
1:03am three little pigs roll down by the creek
we cut the path and they flicker flashlights at us
trapped when we've done nothing wrong-
held by the twist of wrist bones to sober stoned
panic attacks, drawn down to the jutted edge of a cop car door-
this is a reason to speak overpopulation, over stimulation:
what is life without i-pod's what is television
without sex what is sex without big corporate dicks
what are big corporate dicks without i-dick covers
what are i-dick covers without i-pod's what is life
without the aching knowledge we're at the dark brim of a cliff-
(I hold on to a tether I wove and wait with scissors).
the movement is alive, kicks in the hearth
plagued by fashion and fabrications of god
but still kicks nonetheless people, human people
are still alive on earth, their infrastructure will fall.
the end of America will come, inevitable
to start a new beginning in the shackles of our ignorance.