I normally don’t approach topics of this sort. But hopefully I can pass this off as a sort of pen-portrait and not as any sort of political commentary. I don’t actually know or understand enough to comment on American or World politics. But, regardless, this is the undeniable impression I get when I see Bush and certain members of his administration up in front of the microphones.
strange disease
your face looks somehow
slack
not with age but some
strange disease
your tongue slithers in and out
slicking greasy lies
like rancid butter
across rows of microphones
your cheeks spill out
over insect jaws that work
mindless as mandibles
on flickering teleprompts
your eyes are toxic
squalid little pools of terror leaking
shivers from soft busy glows
sea to noxious sea
your ears have rotted gray
deaf as battleship decks
slack as the torn and tattered flag
silenced behind you
your voice is the sound of gravel
shoveled from the backs of trucks
with dirt and lime into
long shallow graves
your hands grope out trembling
as if overcome by pressure
tapped from ancient soils long ago decayed
to putrid pools of loss
and your head swells grotesque
to bursting from your dark black suit
pumped with agendas too fetid
for the heart to endure
