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
This article first appeared in The Guardian.
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