Article in Arts / Literature / Poetry
Re-thug-li-gun-Rush-in lies to cover up TrumPutin's treachery compel us to ask what is left of American freedom. "Qui tacet consentire videtur"--"He who is silent appears to consent." I for one dissent. Russia, the Deep State, religious fanaticism will leave America in ruins--the wages of theocracy.
 
 
 

The Wages of Theocracy: America in Ruins


Under SHOW ALL MEDIA I append a file in which I read my poem aloud.


America dying lies gasping for breath,
Bludgeoned by fascists who will not relent
Until white hatred poisons everything —
Mountains, prairies, wells, women, and children
(Carrying 800-round assault rifles
Every day to school to die during recess) …
When did a people ever declare war
On their children unless they were monsters
No fairy tale could ever succeed in
Helping children believe good is stronger than?
Just so, as we see, fascists are banishing
Fairy tales and innocence hand over fist
To con consumers into feeding frenzies
Lest spending slacken and monsters grow lean —
We all know who’ll not go hungry in these ruins.

For decades the Soviets strove to bury
America, as Khrushchev swore they would,
But they failed until the left-over GOPs
O’d’ed on delusions of theocracy
And betrayed our homeland to Russian putains,
Dirtier than the dirtiest of “whores,”
Pushing “poontang” to any old narcissist
Broke enough to sleep with such a country
And then boast he’d grabbed 'em down Pussy Way.
The founders fled Old-World autocracy
Not because they were moral or pious
(Many, we would guess, were anything but …)
They wanted instead just to breathe an air
Not fetid with the cruel hypocrisy
Of power-sluts slinking behind the skirts of god.

So now the ruins begin to amass
Where buildings and roads and bridges collapse.
But infrastructure is only a symptom.
The disease? Consumption. Of history.
History consumed until it's carrion
Which power blows up into a doll of lies
Every dictator wants to fantasize with.
Pseudo-history turns people into dung
To be rolled into ovens everywhere
And burned as fuel for envy’s engines
Which never rest in the manufacture
Of greed’s most trusted lieutenant, murder.
No love in these ruins, these ruins of love,
Where men and women gambled on freedom
And landed on America instead.
 
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About the Author 

R Allen Shoaf
EROTIC RECKONINGS, my second volume of poetry, can now be purchased from New Plains Press or from Amazon. My third volume, PIED-PIPER PHILOL

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