{1_01} You can count on the "Christians" to elect

{1_02} the devil's choice of president. I guess

{1_03} they cannot read their bibles and connect

{1_04} the words that Jesus said. They acquiesce . . .

 
{1_05} . . . to human practicality -- the law

{1_06} of equilibrium -- take life for life;

{1_07} or two for one, or ten, on death's see-saw.

{1_08} If someone slaps you, stab them with your knife.

 
{1_09} Blaspheming Christ they kill in self-defence

{1_10} and show the world their faith is full of holes.

{1_11} The only thing they trust is violence.

{1_12} You don't believe me, read the latest polls ...

 
{1_13} ... where BULLSHIT "Christians" praise preemptive war.

{1_14} They're clueless what the cross of Christ was for.

{2_01} In California petulance is hot.

{2_02} What crazed initiatives will pop-up next?

{2_03} Spring-loaded by big money, surely not

{2_04} by democratic will. There's no context ...

 
{2_05} ... for reas'nable discussion -- Just TV.

{2_06} Commercial slots in our attention span.

{2_07} That's how big money brands democracy.

{2_08} Transform each citizen to mindless fan ...

 
{2_09} ... of BULLSHIT explanations that conform

{2_10} to fragments of "what everybody knows."

{2_11} They're never hot or cold, just nice and warm --

{2_12} tied up in yellow ribbons. Pretty bows.

 
{2_13} A head-cold populace convinced it's clear

{2_14} enough to rule, but can't tell farts from beer.

{3_01} Bin Laden is a blasphemer of God.

{3_02} Yes, that's a case a president could make

{3_03} who wasn't praying: Jesus firm our rod

{3_04} as we whip all our enemies awake...

 
{3_05} ... from dreams that they can stand against our might.

{3_06} BUT bombs we drop while praying for God's aid

{3_07} prop up bin Laden's verdict. Prove he's right.

{3_08} Paint righteous evil drawings that he made ...

 
{3_09} ... of Allah's version of reality.

{3_10} A lie based on self-righteous, human pride.

{3_11} Not on God's will, but man's theology.

{3_12} When Bushes or bin Ladens spoke, God sighed.

 
{3_13} Religious terrorism had defamed

{3_14} one name of God. Then Bush had Jesus framed.

{4_01} The People of America allowed

{4_02} defilement of democracy to stand.

{4_03} Around the world they scowled and asked out loud

{4_04} why Bush was president. Could this have fanned ...

 
{4_05} ... belief we do not stand for anything?

{4_06} America, the meaningless, was ripe

{4_07} for final undermining with the ding

{4_08} of 9/11 -- all our promise wipe ...

 
{4_09} ... by raising Bush's ev'ry stupid word

{4_10} to holy writ that trembling democrats

{4_11} would not resist. AS IF the voice they heard

{4_12} was God's comand, instead of Satan's brats.

 
{4_13} And thus America is now reviled

{4_14} as once-great-nation, now BULLSHIT beguiled.

{5_01} With BULLSHIT-eaters the majority,

{5_02} democracy is finished. Hear taps played

{5_03} on automated bugles. Look now, see

{5_04} the long line of democracy unmade ...

 
{5_05} ... as California crazies now process

{5_06} toward Forest Lawn where Arnold will proceed

{5_07} to shout a eulogy. Maria's dress

{5_08} with golden threads which spell "Let money lead."

 
{5_09} With Kennedy funds spreading way too thin,

{5_10} her choice of husband made a lot of sense.

{5_11} When wealth runs low, it cannot be a sin

{5_12} to compromise your values. She's not dense ...

 
{5_13} ... like Californians who'd rush to replace

{5_14} democracy with Arnold's steroid face.

{6_01} In Texas Bush's steak fry serves BULLSHIT,

{6_02} but all of his supporters ask for more.

{6_03} Another helping, please. They do not spit

{6_04} the excrement, but chew. While poor Al Gore ...

 
{6_05} ... confers with Clinton: "Why do folks eat shit

{6_06} served up in heaping piles when promised steak?"

{6_07} Bill shakes his head, "It's simple Al, you quit.

{6_08} You let the BULLSHIT cookers eat your cake.

 
{6_09} I'm sorry for the country, but not you.

{6_10} You let BULLSHIT prevail, when truth could win.

{6_11} It's so far gone now, not much we can do

{6_12} except spread our own bullshit, like all men ...

 
{6_13} ... who do not have the power to convince

{6_14} the BULLSHIT eaters to spit, brush, and rinse."

{7_01} The democratic pollsters scream, "You're nuts!

{7_02} Insulting voters is no winning play.

{7_03} To call them BULLSHIT eaters might take guts,

{7_04} but just as stupid as if you were gay ...

 
{7_05} ... and planned a wedding for the White House lawn

{7_06} on your inauguration day in tights

{7_07} to Monica Lewinsky's dad now gone

{7_08} from straight to gay because you changed his sights."

 
{7_09} You know those spinners love hyperbole.

{7_10} They're sure they're right about the public will.

{7_11} Since they define it oh so subtly

{7_12} by how they frame the questions in their mill.

 
{7_13} Sometimes true leaders speech must be a slap,

{7_14} especially when folks are full of crap.

{8_01} George Dubya's ranch supplies pure fresh manure.

{8_02} High mounds of BULLSHIT and some horseshit, too.

{8_03} He's praying that the democrats can't cure

{8_04} the voters taste for BULLSHIT. "They love poo," ...

 
{8_05} ... says Dubya's best spin-doctor who enjoys

{8_06} the taste himself. That's why Rove is so fine

{8_07} a spreader -- he chews while the shit deploys.

{8_08} "I like my BULLSHIT with a glass of wine."

 
{8_09} Would that be a merlot or cabernet?

{8_10} He suddenly suspects I'm not his friend

{8_11} and I'm soon out the gate and on my way.

{8_12} A compliment'ry sack: bull-horseshit blend.

 
{8_13} (If you believe this sonnet is too deep

{8_14} in BULLSHIT, friend, that sack is yours to keep.)

{9_01} I make the trek to Dr. Dean's base camp

{9_02} high up a mountain, balanced on his nose.

{9_03} Just kidding, Gov'nor, but I'll hold a lamp

{9_04} up to your doctor's arrogance to close ...

 
{9_05} ... that open gash with one poetic stitch.

{9_06} Much better that a Democrat corrects

{9_07} that surface flaw before Rove's BULLSHIT pitch

{9_08} lands on your head and stinkily infects ...

 
{9_09} ... your straight-talk, anti-BULLSHIT, truth campaign

{9_10} A righteous anger's fine, but watch the tilt

{9_11} of nostril which some doctors oft complain.

{9_12} Good insights from outsiders sometimes wilt ..

 
{9_13} ... when God-like doctors scowl and close the door.

{9_14} They can forget what conversation's for.

{10_01} A note to all the Democrats who gave

{10_02} that squatter in the White House all your power,

{10_03} who authorized the idiotic wave

{10_04} of extralegal slaughter: For one hour ...

 
{10_05} ... I'd turn you over to those who lost kin

{10_06} and let them choose what fate you ought deserve.

{10_07} Perhaps they will forgive you for your sin.

{10_08} And for war heroes, we'll see how your nerve ...

 
{10_09} ... holds up when fathers tell of their dead child.

{10_10} Their maiming in the shock and awe you loosed

{10_11} upon the innocent, because you filed

{10_12} your conscience, shooed the war hawks from their roost.

 
{10_13} Perhaps, by grace of God, some would forgive

{10_14} your vile stupidity, and let you live.

{11_01} Bill Clinton knocks: Who do you think you are?

{11_02} I ask him why is your nose in my face?

{11_03} You squandered what you worked for. Your rock-star

{11_04} well-worshipped glamour may well set the pace ...

 
{11_05} ... for clueless Democrats who do not care

{11_06} that your incompetence in leadership

{11_07} led to our downfall. No, your pretty hair

{11_08} does not impress me. Spare me your high lip.

 
{11_09} I'm mad at you, and stupid Gore, and all

{11_10} the ignoramous Democrats who let

{11_11} the BULLSHIT spreaders unleash all their gall.

{11_12} I don't forgive you, and I won't forget.

 
{11_13} It's too late now for your long-winded tongue

{11_14} that paved the way for Dubya Bush's dung.

{12_01} As Clinton walks away, he shakes his head:

{12_02} What good will all your anger do, but give

{12_03} the country to the idiots? Why red-

{12_04} faced hatchet jobs on Democrats? Just live ...

 
{12_05} ... as if you cared about the things your say.

{12_06} Dear Bill, you had your chance, now please shut up.

{12_07} Go find the DNC, and y'all go pray.

{12_08} Leave politics alone. Go buy a pup.

 
{12_09} THEN GOD SAID: Boke, I'll say the same to you.

{12_10} You're worse than Jeremiah -- let it rest.

{12_11} Leave politics alone, do what you do.

{12_12} You ought to know by now ho you've been blessed.

 
{12_13} You cannot make the BULLSHIT disappear.

{12_14} And anyway, smiles God, "The End Is Near."

{13_01} Thanks, God. And fare thee well. He's lots of fun.

{13_02} And I wish I could take His good advice,

{13_03} but He knows that I won't. ThatÕs how things run.

{13_04} There'd be no game if He controlled the dice ...

 
{13_05} Just one smooth-spinning top without surprise.

{13_06} And that's not what God wanted to create...

{13_07} I guess, who knows -- it's all BULLSHIT and lies

{13_08} arrayed for each of us, shaped like our fate.

 
{13_09} And part of that, of course, is our response:

{13_10} Our anger, our exhaustion, and our laughs.

{13_11} (And when I type this up, my choice of fonts.)

{13_12} The things that matter. Things that don't. Our gaffes.

 
{13_13} It seems, tonight, I've run into a wall.

{13_14} End BULLSHIT sonnets? Curl up in a ball?

{14_01} But fourteen sonnets was "the plan" tonight.

{14_02} An arbitrary choice. An act of will.

{14_03} But hopefully I'd stumble into light

{14_04} amidst the gloomy passages I spill ...

 
{14_05} ... when pointlessness of ev'rything appears

{14_06} to overwhelm all artist discipline.

{14_07} It's not a matter of "my darkest fears,"

{14_08} but of "the true reality" we're in.

 
{14_09} If I gave up resisting BULLSHIT's force,

{14_10} I'd have more energy for artist's play.

{14_11} And maybe after napping, I'll change course:

{14_12} apologize to Democrats and pay ...

 
{14_13} ... a complement to our dear president.

{14_14} Oh, gag me, I just puked. I shan't repent! {smile}