Do you really think you’re the most fucked-up veteran in this park right now?
Key my car?
That’s for infants.
And as all us veterans know
Infants are just ‘tards in tutus.
I’m gonna give you and your daughter
AIDS your grand-son
Zika your grand-daughter
A terrible fall
I know a guy.
Choose yer poison,
This morning please,
I’ve got business to conduct at Denny’s.
I’ll bend you end-over-end for my own ends
Well, and for the children, for,
If not you, not for me,
Who will think of the children?
Word is you’ll come come come
A brain-bucket of GI scat
When Little Jonny learns to kickstart that
Mo-Gas grounding rod augur up your ass.
“Hey, Little Johnny,Finger his beardPull his GI Joe stringSounds cool to hear the echo in this guy’s gutsThey call that the GI tract, son,Not everyone gets to die with one.”
Oh, not the tunnels story again …
you fuckstick fuckstuck infant rodentyou who left your cock and your government-issue terrierstinking up the tunnels of the Cu Chi Vientiane;wellat least explainsthe squirt gun in your cargo pocket for them clueless non-combatants
dance bitch dance …
recite my favorite t s eliot …
see that bull?
bitch, see that bull?
he’s got a set, ain’t he?
unlike someone I know
that mad professor w plenty o reasons
and them horns
that bulls got a set, ain’t he?
he’s just another general needs to ass-fuck one of the men he’ll send to heaven & virgins this afternoon
no, nothing personal, compañero
and needs a little asteroid for to administer said ass-fucking to said, heavily-meth’d soldier
and well, I guess that soldier was you,
but unfavored-son you,
Mars gifted you not the deathblow,
not another hole,
only you back inside the wire wearing only your menses
mystery and wonder at the blood & shit squid-inking,
so shame shame only shame and the curse of coming home unharmed
til the discovery of spray-paint for cattle dogs,
super-soakers for lines crossed,
key rings &
spaces in desperate need of enforcement
and your rodent-filled universe in need of sudden sodden cleansing, and
a deer needs the
before another tragic
like his his his,
like your mother’s own
no,soldier,there is no return home
shave that cum off your face
combat-park your shiny Silverado
face your forty-five
secretly hope to be found
be a good boy
buy us all a round
take that deep breath
and fail fail since that your bitter birth
fail to thrive
and blame that mother goose god
them barren orphanage nuns sold you
remember your manners, private
sleep the sleep of every contented barren nun
for your dog, to
harass cattle, to
scare miners, to
to eat his gun, to
blow out your last
silly mother goose sun;
as you assume the angle, take the petrol towel
like the old days up against The General’s Wall,
the shits, the blood at the bowels, sudden the loose
soon soon the sad cock rest against the ball
“Sargeant return his barrel-raghe’s covered in carbon,that’ll cost you a tooth of gold.”
Turret turns to you
“You,wipe yourself you filthy scag,vamoosemaricón!”
and it’s your dog,
pulls the trigger identified friend, foe,