The Parapolicial
is you, plural us
we think they
can make one
say this or that
but can not
make [us] believe
nor "feel it for real"
internally to paraphrase
the Great George O,
but shoot--
they can and do,
they've gotten us
Good
from an early age
the agent of censor
my friend
is you--
you
who won't stop to think
who won't press pause
or hesitate to admit
you who eats
and drinks
who consumes
heap loads
of IT
the whatever
that is served as
the Word---
the kingpin of the moment
the left of the Over
(That which is no-longer,
seen nor heard)
because
we are busy,
with our smoke
and our screens
of mosquito netting
that keep us
from feeling
the itch and the burn
of the hemorrhoid
that's forming
in the most
polite social circles
of global assholes
who talk
about people
in terms of
engagement
as shrimps
and prawns
of escrow
and makeup
moves in cheap
hotel mirror
restrooms,
playing Chinese
checkers upon
the back market
of civilizations
convinced we're
already in
the red,
so what difference
is little or more,
blood shed?
Humiliating
our men in
the triangle
as "cunt" is
the worst name
to be dread,
because Mother
Earth is Whore
of the Universe,
having lost track
of the number
of bastard births
that turn on her
and on God
with vengeance
and spite
for coming
into this world
burdened
by conscience
and nuclear choice,
the surviving
patient
individual,
feeling he'd rather
have choked
on the apple
and iPod,
than leave
progeny this
Paradise loss