Prepare your anus, you’re about to get a red pill suppository.

R. Budd Dwyer (1939-1987)

R. Budd Dwyer (1939-1987)

I’m dead in the water

The image an empty vessel

Turned in hands of the giant wheel

Listless master of drowned flies


The good people of Pennsylvania

Watch Tom Cruise play football

Leaves turn, his scholarship jeopardized

Another factory closes


Down with cracked asphalt, oil spots,

And dead streams the crippled titan

Drags his torso over wet leaves

Mud cold and unforgiving


The smoking gun

The pension paid

Hollowed be thy eyes

When the system will not die


Inanimate as a lamp-shade

On the treasurer’s desk

Lonely gallows

Kick pebbles and fight the shakes


There’s belief somewhere

In a pair of slacks

A warm handshake

Pigskin from a judge’s soft psalms


Every fucking day is war

To my dearest with the lights cut off

I am just two nostrils

I sing the songs


Somewhere in the primordial Quaker stew

There was justice. There is none here.

We are neatly pressed shirts

All smiles in Harrisburg, PA


The good ole boys slapping backs

Nay, wrists—except for R. Budd Dwyer

The constituency must see

The noise we can make


One less noble man

One hundred thousand less jobs

You saw him, yes?

Blow his brains out on public access?


It must be a marker of guilt

He had the rope

All this time, he had the rope

It was right there in the envelope


It was the Big Game

Lamb to the slaughter

It was a daughter without a father

Evidence with no proof


There are wedding rings with more discretion

Maybe he could’ve been reached…

Could’ve been reasoned with

As if fifty years is a viable alternative


This is what happens when you corner a man

Let the great big doe eyes see

What’s been consecrated here

Conviction, conviction

SoCal Eugenics

SoCal Eugenics

The Chad Holocaust + A Vulgar Display of Cowards

The Chad Holocaust + A Vulgar Display of Cowards