Stars & Scars
I’m drawing a line in the sand
with the middle finger of a severed hand
from Ground Zero to Afghanistan,
through Libya, Syria, and Pakistan.
I pledge allegiance to no man,
let alone some fucking flag,
which, by any other tag,
would be a body bag.
Take a knee? Take three.
Rigged game from here to austerity.
Breathe, goddammit! Exercise
in posterity. To dream, perchance
to sleep. The President’s a midnight
creep, tweeting his insanity
until dawn. I’m counting sheep.
The line is drawn.