Subversion Poetry

Jesus didn’t spend time serving at the local soup kitchen,

He was the soup kitchen, broth for blood and saltines for flesh,

He said “Let whoever is without sin cast the first stone”

Yet you cast some gravel at homeless man’s Heroine drip

Look at that! You exclaim

He is cold, he is dirty, he is sad, and he is maimed

He needs some food, a drink, a smoke, a warm place to stay

So you walk on by, waiting for the Sally Ann to pick up your slack

Yeah you, this poem is for you!

Your idea of service sounds more like provincial employment

1 guy working and the rest waiting for coffee break, cheering him on

Yeah you, this poem is for you!

Take off your nice sweater and your shoes

Check your pornographic mind at the door please

Because all of your secrets are as bad as his needles

Yeah you, this poem is for you!

Fuck your American dream!

Your pants are bursting at the seams!

Your fat rolls down the street,

Like a brand new 2011 gold-plated Lexus.

Yeah you, this poem is for you!

Raise your golden-arched pitchfork in a sharp salute!

Wave your shame stained pillow cases like national flags!

Sing the national anthem, Lady Gaga Featuring queens and drags!

Babylon’s whore has stabbed your imagination

Into a leftover gutter, pierced by her carbon stiletto

As she puffs on child-labor-cigarettes,

her smile sells You the smoke and her breasts sell the rest

She’s riding a ten horned limo,

Crowns of oil around each one,

And on each crown are lists,

Of soul’s that she has won

Yeah you, this poem is for you!

Bow down and praise!

Fill your mind with media horseshit

The whore will satisfy your gaze

She coats her mouth in bloody lipstick

Ground up processed children,

Who made those shoes,

Sitting in your closet

Her eyes are powdered with gunfire residue

Golden bullet-casings decorate her barbed wire hair

Her teeth grind the minerals from foreign soil

Her breath smells of abusive alcoholics

She has manicured nails and flawless, irreplicatable skin

Bulimic stomach powdered to godliness

And photoshopped muscles to aesthetically please

Her grin invites you, Her wallet entices you

Her hand will stroke where you want it to,

Her speech is loud and subtle,

And she is everywhere.

She is in your living room,

Your computer,

Your cellphone,

Your head,

Your bed,

Your wallet,

Your shed,

Your food,

Your life.

Yeah you, this poem is for you!

The whore is at the door,

Bringing you begging for more,

Will you whet your appetite?