My fellow Americans,
we have fucked up.
We killed the American Dream,
stabbing it mercilessly
with steely knives
in dark damp alleys
and gleaming boardrooms
until it screamed
gurgling nastily as
its lungs filled up
with blood.
The State of the Union is Disunion
I saw a video today of Los Angeles
On starry sidewalks where not half a year past
I stumbled whiskey-drunk over dead idols
Where the blueshirts killed a man today
Held him down, one man clutching hard
To leg and arm as the high priest
Drew the gun and made the sacrifice
“Reporters can identify the homeless man
Only as “Africa,” no other name known…”
So they held Africa down on
Those starry boulevards and they
Put six lead slugs into Africa’s head
Turned Africa’s brains into strawberry jam
Spread on the streets like toast
And Africa’s blood flowed into the gutters
And only the dogs washed it away.
The State of the Union is Disunion
No more need for stone pyramids
(we’re too lazy for stairs!)
They’ll bring death to you on your doorstep
by delivery or drone
Even if you have no door
Nor steps, even if they
Have to kill you in
Broad-fucking-daylight
In the street
I get a sick laugh when
I hear their propaganda
“Sacrifices must be made!”
Yes, you Pharisees
You priests of Mammon
We know too well your
Bloody hateful sacrifices
You cut out our hearts
Bleed us dry on stone streets
Cremate our bodies for paupers’
Graves and make of us burnt offerings
To give to your dollar-green and
Gold gods, eating beating hearts
The State of the Union is Disunion
We have built great internment camps
In our dry desert Texas plains
For those we delay in exiling
Because the words of Lazarus
Are a sick joke these days
Oh, we receive the homeless
And the tempest-tossed
Spew them back out
To doom and ruin
Or put them in canvas-tent
Cities to rot under the
Clear dry skies and
Blazing sun of the land
Of the free, and home of the slave
The State of the Union is Disunion
I heard the radio say
That the cops in Chicago
Had a big blank-faced
Warehouse where they
Held protestors and dissidents
Without any access
By light of day
Or lawyer or friend
And beat them like mules
“Torture, do not slay!”
Gave ‘em the ol’ Guantanamo
Right here on our soil
And then they say
They’re surprised that
We hate them, fear them?
They demand respect like that
Which the feral dog demands
From passersby who fear
He might be rabid
The State of the Union is Disunion
It always seems like that iron hand
Falls heaviest on poor folk
Like us
How many kids went into those wailing
Prisons and were broken on the wheel
For selling plastic bags of weed
While grown men sold depleted-uranium
Artillery shells and shitty mortgages –
Yet they still live in palaces and glass towers?
I never saw no general
Shot down in the street
Nor a banker beat
By the cop’s cudgel
THE STATE OF THE UNION IS DISUNION
Photo by Meaux Delarue