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Seasoned Explicit

by Meagan Green


The soul is sick and itchy with the crabs,
molested by the minds of human swine
who feed upon our source of light,
and digest it into dark fecal matter that drops
into the toilets they call our civil rights.
A great name for a rock band
would be The Clap,
please don’t steal it.

A drink, a smoke, a few dozen tokes,
and we don't notice the injustice
they give us, we just smile pretty,
and give money to a war against
the solution to some epic problem we can't pinpoint
to the point of fully understanding,
just left confused by the feeling
that we might be starving
as we eat our diseases,

such nourishment, how we worship thee.

Dictators dictating themselves in the name
of reason, treason, each and every season
seasoned with an ego convinced that
its opinion is yours,
is yours,
is yours.
And you believe that by unspoken force,

and cannot argue with the spitten word.

We cry for us,
but to no avail.

10/03/2007

Author's Note: I changed it a bit.

Posted on 10/04/2007
Copyright © 2024 Meagan Green

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Joe Cramer on 10/04/07 at 11:00 AM

Well done!

Posted by Kristina Woodhill on 10/04/07 at 03:03 PM

Well done. My compliments are too tame to give it proper kudos.

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