Troops troops fly away—
the desert rocks bleed slow now—
they won’t miss you, dears.
Pseudohaikumary
Troops troops fly away—
the desert rocks bleed slow now—
they won’t miss you, dears.
Pseudohaikumary
Cynical man child—
Prise open popular will—
Inside: Kevlar vest.
Pseudohaikumary
They say, “Don’t look there!”—
Carnage, little child’s face caved—
I say, “Eyes are for…”
Pseudohaikumary
First Bush had his War—
All lights, shock, awe: dead silence—
Now it’s “their” turn: Dems.
Old trickster, you stink—
Because you’re flat-out dead now:
“…a series of tubes.”
Pseudohaikumary
He came from Up North—
Chicago, cold and windy—
He took our money.
Pseudohaikumary