bowing to the boss to fill my pockets
in social dividends delicious

red states and blue on the playground
awkward social revenues reigning
between girls and boys
and ghostly principles

family fortunes of their forked freedoms
fostering a foundation for taxes
every supper for americans in march

no taxation
without representation unless
you want to ascend to the white house
where you will climb to be like
the most high

the carpet ride of social cronies
the whorish whales of wall street
swimming on the land because
local is not appetizing enough

"I want to dance with the bodies of their third world daughters of rough skinned farmers to the eighteenth generation"

they will squeal with glee as they sign
fictitious unmotherly memos

bowing to their boss

trying to

become their boss

while their
boss

wants to become the boss

filling their words and muscles with
social dividends for uncle sam to see