Archive
04/15/09 - (3)
The Process
How long has it been since you've really gotten pissed off, So whizzed, disgusted, bummed out, By the frigging little day-to-day nitpicking dictates of living,
That all you can do is throw off your constrictive clothes, Right in front of Wolfgang Puck Express, in the Mall of America, And scream, "Life sucks God's schwanz!"?
Why am I asking you, when, in fact, that's what I've just done? Could it be that you, too, have a bone to pick, with the authorities, Those who keep us in Gestapo-like check?
That you may not agree with my subversive theatrics, tactics Doesn't mean that I'm completely out of order...though I am. Give it less than five minutes. You'll see.
The mind-police SWAT teams will be swarming all over me, Have me in custody, on the rack, in the Hall of Torture, Hacking through the firewall around my encrypted hemispheres,
While those who've gathered about me, en anonymous masse, Scatter to their shadowy habitats, Where they'll fixate on computer screens, ears glued to Skype,
And wait for the latest instantaneous news of my process, My show trial before the Supreme Inquisitionists, Hoping, praying, that I'm convicted of crimes against the state,
Not merely found guilty of indecent exposure, For which I'd only be sentenced to a week of house arrest, Instead of disappearing, for life, in the mall's detention center.
04/15/09 - (3)
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