Agape

It is time for a death cult, America.
In the ancient streets at dawn
come bombs, come waste
in the water where we pray
In halos lit with shrapnel.
The face of g-d is rigid and pale,
riding on a clockwork horse.
There is no excuse for peace,
America, licking at the dew
of the Eastern lotus
is out of style this year.
We got our guns cocked hard,
there are people to kill,
corporate takeovers to plan.

Concrete mausoleums pour
bodies from their mouths
in the South under burning floods.
Ghosts twist from the sky
and raze land bare.

A disembodied hand twitches
angelic, sweat palmed
on the flashing red button of our brains.
Push it, the skin is light and rapt.
Push it, viscera is coiled
like a snake in a nest.

Oh dear preacher pope Nazi
loving presidential America g-d,
It's too late to be trying
(look pretty); it's too late to be
(spend money). We got angry mouths to feed
force choke freedom to, we got women
to tell what their moral bodies do,
we got one Good Book
that tells us all the law we need
to lay down.

Secrets are safe
black flies in the walls.
Honor is a code now.
Justice is doing strip shows in the mall.
Thought is the demon, lay down.

I need cameras on the streets.
I need bars on my doors.
I need a 70 inch widescreen plasma
with picture in picture in picture
to watch every sitcom
tragedy reality romance drama
sci-fi fantasy western news report
ever rewritten.

I need black oil for my SUV.
I need a double cheeseburger.
I need a triple caffeine
mocha latte with soy milk
so I can stay up all night
driving to my next
job interview.

I need a pacifier smoke,
I need a numb alcohol pain.
Only doctors push
the best drugs,
but don't you know hospitals
are the new prison
and in the afterlife of gunfire
morphine needles are just the longest
part of the vein?