Bush’s smirking head transposed over
Bush’s serious-face head transposed over
a burning Bush,
the flames of wisdom sucked up and under
Bush’s flaring nostrils, transposed over
military weaponry,

people once thought he was small
like a mouse in his father’s shadow,
he would often mull these things over
with cocaine plastered onto a wet nostril,

but he’s a large large man now
larger than life, larger than opinion even,
or common sense, which has somehow been
rendered inappropriate these days, and we see

Bush’s sleeping head transposed over
the nyabinghi drum at the rasta reasoning,
calling forth the apocalypse
one chorus at a time,

If you look closely you can witness the faces of millions
in just one of his pupils, millions more in the other,
waiting without humor to see which eye he’ll wink with
this time.

“W” appears in Madswirl, May 2007

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Filed under poetry, published work

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