The Myth of America

In the starry dream

The lonely bald eagle soars in

Early dawn far above the earth

In the realm of awakening light


Apollo Whoescapes the

Barren Island of Delos

Taking flight for the

Celestial city in the sky


Purple mountains bleed

Upon amber waves of grain

The blood feeds the people

In their manifest destiny


The eagle watches all –

It hears every sound

As it hovers over the

Sheep of the valley


Watches them –

Keeps them safe

From the wolves

On the prowl


Apollo shoots his

Prey from a distance

The predator dances upon

The fatal tension of his bow


The sheep of the valley also

Feel the stings of arrows,

The clawing talons of

The jealous, ravenous eagle


For the eagle is a bird of prey

Who attacks your enemy

Only to have your curly

Flesh all to itself


Apollo seeks order, what

He calls ‘beauty’ in the

Repetition of his own denial

Of the playspace of the earth


The sheep, some now turned to goats,

Resist the voracious hunger of the

Eagle, seek to repel the interests

Of Apollo by turning themselves ugly


Apollo lusts after the sacrifice

Of the goat and his terrible song

Casts his light and his medicines

Upon the darkness of the dream


The eagle swoops down as

Lightening upon the goat and

Sheep alike, to kill one and to

Utterly devour the other


The goats prod the sheep to

Conjure the depths of community –

Awaken the remembrance of Dionysus

In the dismemberment of Apollo


Long Live Margaret Thatcher!

Margaret Thatcher’s veins are filled

with formaldehyde, and the fluids

from her body have already been

flushed away into the sewers to

be savored by the joyful rats –

(unless the fluids have been

preserved in the Canopic Jars)

But, let us remember, that

Margaret Thatcher was at least

honest about her hatred for us –

for ‘Society’ … in the arms of her

lover Reagan as the welfare

state was gone with the wind –

better than the Golden Syrup

boy who smiles in our faces,

while he destroys our world –

mocks us with a ‘Big Society’

For every time, there is a season –

A time to love – and a time to hate –

Let us relish in our hate, but raise a

glass to the Iron Lady who taught

us – with the Sex Pistols

(Thatcher’s background music)

again to hate, but perhaps not

in the manner that she intended –

Margaret Thatcher becomes an

icon of negativity, in the manner

of other satellite puppets like Pinochet.

Jesus, the suicide, counseled after all… love thy enemies….

The death of a great enemy calls for a great celebration,

there will be a festival of death

there will be remembrance

there will be joy