Impolitic Prose of the Impolite

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ImPolitic Prose of the Impolite

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*clears throat*
In the midst of a binary desert cries 
a low-born 
blue-collar 
ghost-colored 
trailer-park prophet I 

Pyre-treated  
bad seed-ed 
sore meated 
Un-heeded 
 
A bonifide 
unauthorized 
dumpster fire 
of that fat stacked deck 
set up 
from the neck up 
a honey soaked 
hair shirt 
shuck n jive 
sticky hipster 
locust-lipped lie 

I will offend & fail 
in my ways wicked 
even wasteful 
bold and shameless 
Shock & awe 
in violence verbal 
I will wear your skin
THIN
in
relentless confrontation 
 
No, I will never be 
what you suppose I am
supposed to be
But will befuddle, 
even bedevil
by the bitch in me brain-bound 
that breaks faith 
 to wail from the wound in me 
Ragged lips raging from the (w)hole of me 
 shrieking shudders the soul of me
She doesn’t know no better
I tell myself
Her purloined plowshare
tragically tempered
by the tampering treason
of tyrannical Urgency
into a bladed edge
folded so many times 
it would turn a samurai green
(but I digress…)

Well armed by the width
the breadth the depth
of hard-won Apathy’s favor
fed to bursting on anarchism,
No more burdened by optimism, 
In blatant in self-sabotage,
I am shamefully become
this armchair warrior Ronin's drum
A wastefully warmongering beat 
to the worst of the woad weary Westboro Baptist hype
& the woke-ly walking-dead wunderkind 
 still stage whispering… 
 winter will come

Legislative lassitude,
nihilistic narcissism,
and push-button brutality
make of themselves
all too eager bedfellows,
in this my crippled Country, 
jackknifed by judgement
Its Champions valor vigorously voted out 
by Vice,
Congressionally clear-cut of conscience
by Choice

Nero may fiddle while Rome is burning
and horse-headed Senators swagger, swig and swell,
Not one can stop this well-armed worm from turning 
This full clip 
from bad to worse road trip 
is spell-bent for a special hell
(Damn those goodly intended pave-stones 
manacled about my neck)
 
Hear me, I beg!
With one last favor left when I am gone…

You see, history, if not learned from
is doomed to repeat
Till the Survivors, 
now steady-eyed 
rise to their feet.

Now I lay me down to sleep
Curious if a soul is left to keep.
And if I should die
Before I wake… 
and in strong-armed silence, 
vox populi still quake...



Then I beseech you rise
to cry Havoc in such frequency
as to rival "Let there be Light"
Let us NOT go quietly into that good night



(and Someone, please, erase my browser history.)

e.holloway (c)2018                      post script-2.28.2019 edited A LOT