“Two hearts that beat as one,” I said.
“T-wo-ha, ha, ha,--two-ha, ha, ha, …”
Who many to fir your gum
at some pheasants. So
many true believers.
This is no game.
How manly to fire your gun
at some peasants.
They are not game.
You are not a hunter for food.
You(r) (f)ate and hungered for good
poems. The red white and blue lie
made you a baby faced killer. Rest
while the race is on
to see how many die.
Mark your time old codger.
This now forever in your head:
Shit won. And you, too, are dead.