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Birth of the Coup-well: War House Hoets

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by BAR Poet-in-Residence Raymond Nat Turner

War House hoets shamelessly

Raise golden goblets

Of fracking fluid, toast

Eternal war, war profiteers

 

Birth of the Coup-well: War House Hoets

by BAR Poet-in-Residence Raymond Nat Turner

 

Onomatopoeia of sucking,

Briefings in a bathroom

Off the Offal Office,

Secure location for

Speaking truth to power,

Performing teleprompter

Poems, dangling on the

Warhead of their hero—

War House hoets

Hold his feat to the

Fire of their flaming

Tongues…

 

Like Chihuahuas on

Red, white and blue leashes,

 

Hoets see, hear, no evil—

Vote vinegary tears

To orphans; charred roll call

Of bones, bullet-riddled

Bodies, two-headed babies

Deformed by depleted

Uranium, to mothers…

 

War House hoets shamelessly

Raise golden goblets

Of fracking fluid, toast

Eternal war, war profiteers,

Craft spy poems,

Surveillance poems,

Recite Psy-Op odes

In imperialist pentameter,

Manufacture metaphors

Too big to fail in

Stanzas populated by

Boots on the ground…

 

Meanwhile, Brutus, Brecht,

Neruda, Claude Mc Kay,

Garcia Lorca, Adrienne Rich-

Types— third eyes piercing

The corporate veil

Like Wikileak lasers—

Win invites, compound sentences to

Black sites, specifying business casual:

Pumpkin orange jumpsuits, shackles,

Manacles, mittens, noise-canceling

Headphones, blackened goggles—

For the visionary ones…

 

Raymond Nat Turner © 2013 All Rights Reserved

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