Poem #138

An Anti-Sonnet for the Koch Brothers

Worried with indenture to Billionaires and their kin,
I hurry to my cola and two shots of rum, when
I embark on an expedition through my head, then,
to work my brain when its vessel is broken.
For right then my premeditations, at a distance, where I sin,
aim at a jealous voyage to your dynasty of Kansas Cooks’ cotton gin,
when my back is broke, with bad disks, which constrict
through the nerves of my spine, and detain the illegals
or eyelids from falling down, and up pupil width, to shift calls,
to look on dread which the good prophets see; save that an addict
with my poetic spirit’s creative vision presents your destruction convict
to my visionless persuasion which like a fear in pleasant morn makes
white days dim and her new face ancient; So, therefore, by nights my body aches
and days I give my madness to you, and for myself, all your thunder shakes.


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