This action might not be possible to undo. Are you sure you want to continue?
If Minutemen want to be Serious
How bout THEY fight Cartels Sonorous
Oh why would that be? THey own us much less
Fighting schoolchildren's lessons in Civics?
THey don't come by the State Department.
So they get no Diplomas not even
Children don't just need freedom from Gangs
THey need Protection from Infanticide
The Death of all Innocence in an Instant.
Does that sound like a Bus Ride to Babylon?
Then where have we arrived: but Religion.
The American need for Exceptions
From Faith and Credentials Legitimate.
Bibles are Burned when a Child is Hate.
While you are among yourselves think of the Doc.
He's been sent in a Helicopter Hood.
He has been tortured for loving Goodness,
For taking a stand against Cartels, Shock.
A Gov can Tell Doctors about Medcins.
Narcotraffickers love to fuck virgins.
THey get more fucking per each machinic
Inventing hell upon earth for a Wife?
For isn't she also tortured in her Soul?
To Love a Man who has Honor and Balls?
Taking the Entire World's Nostrils
Its Cocaine, Acid, Cannabis and Gold?
So what do we say we demand Justice
From the Mexicans -- the Ones who're in Charge?
White and Red Torture: Pink Mole
White torture begins with a whoring down.
It looks at you and thinks you're a woman
Who won't have long before it happens.
The judgements, the sabotage, the smile frowns
The cackles of laughter and namecalling.
Ridicule, mockery, derision, shame.
--You start to dress different, androgenous.
The men begin running their attitudes.
THey barely hold back an erection since
They think you're a Lesbian everyone hates.
Or some type of Commie who needs some bait.
Then red the burns drive, and red the signed lies.
This is the boiler plate ritual of war.
Make Everyone you're Enemy in Her.
Warren's gonna bitch slap McConnell flab.
She's gonna give him another chin to wag.
For when he does spittle he wiggle nigs.
He makes ashes seem they're animate, blabs.
Didn't know human walruses had legs.
That extend from the ears and then descend
As the wagon doors of hell fly wide open
A million or two don't make no difference
As long as their is hatred and ire
Businesses run themselves so anyhow
How about those Mexicans when can we shoot?
Cuz this looks like lots of laws for our crooks.
Never a care gives the conservative
who behooves himself by a Liberal.
Notice how the Blue Tail wags the Dog.
The President is Base of the Pyramid.
Each of the Reps is a Point to Themselves.
Instead of the Reverse he is Mainstream
While each of his Henchpeople Gulilitone.
They chop at the top bring down the glaciers.
THen let the People pretend they're Angels.
Can't chair committees without NSA's.
Listen to everything yet know Nada?
So much access and such awful Actors.
There's no longer blood in their arteries.
Pointing their Points with hostility's aim.
At Nobody, Nothing, Never again
but for peeping from Uncle Tom'bs Cabin
Pink Star Mole: My TOrture My Avatar
What propel a poet is Vividence
When the professors who tortured me lied.
They referred to codes as, "lacks evidence,"
"Edith, you must say it's confidential."
You must keep it a Secret that we do this.
We work with the State Department Justice .
Never say who has said this to you, write!
Write without stopping write day and night.
But Sh! I will deny that I said this.
Months and Years passed, the chamber of gases,
the hate rage assaults and pinched ass attacks.
I learn to live deeper than a Minion.
I became a Pink Star Mole underground
A Professor of Red and White torture.
We are All Templarios are Us
If youw ere as ill as diabetic
And you stood over religion's vast planet
Would you allow your health to stop you from work?
Wouldn't you like I who am a poet
If you had the Strength of the earth's full soul
Condemn the butchers of innocence, rage!
Rage against the dying of the light's rays?
Dethrone yourself, IDK, don't repeat Lies.
If you Fear Dyiing what does that say about Christ?
And what of the Mother Fucking Rabbis?
Or how about the Templarios own us?
Then have captured intelligence sources
No, it wasn't Snowden, the President,
Yes, you with the Habit of Torture, STOP.
AU is the Gold of the Deepest Mines, AU.
We may not have certain requirements
Like Haterage or Anger or Boredom's dooms
To make war you must beat up the Angels?
WHY would do that if not to avenge us ?
Bring a smile from the absence of love.
To be special is to live as a Ghost?
Haunting yourself because of Those wars?
And all of the Vice that's advantaged
while we are not humans or Greater Thans?
I was broken in pieces by that vengeance
Able drives drives against us we look down.
We don't like the look of full liars and thieves.
Plus we imitate what is before us.
And we don't want to be like you, fittests.
It's not that the a race does dislike me.
It just cannot tolerate my accent.
My unusual use of my languages.
Serendipity, Beauty, and Chaos.
Sound like something disastrous to many.
Are merely the basics of poetry.
They are nothing but all and everything.
A poet must endanger themselves too.
For spirit of fire endures in the world.
The misery of war without ending.
The voices transpired in the Dawn Cry.
They sing of their torture and exodus.
They cry with blood tears for the rest of us.
My 7th grade teacher changed my life.
She introduced me formally to poems.
She named her daughter Emily I believe.
I named my son Emilio for the reason
He was a poet from inside of me.
So the E's go on, from poet to poet.
My older son is a poet of lines and shapes.
He was born on the day of my teacher's birth.
"To Elsie," from which I borrow such Items.
More precious than gold and older than Time.
They are heirlooms they are live peonies.
Much like his children asking for pennies.
We poets are never wanted too much
Yet we are known for have a healing touch
I want to write a poem about a Brown-Eyed Doe.
I want to write a poem about a Blue-Eyed Dove.
I want to live my Father's Dream of Love.
I want to be my Mother's Dream of Woe.
I write to bleed the clouds of their Glory.
I sing to them with every breath, Sky,
You who are a Father to me and NIght--
You are who are the Moon's Ever After Glow
I asked to be born because I am a Poem.
I have already occurred in Time's Web.
I reflect what has been done Time Again.
I speak with utter meekness at the Form.
That you who Peace has Given me to Mold.
Will make a careful palace for the Old.