I'd like to punch mighty whitey in the belly.
Give some comeuppance to the Pillsbury Doughboy.
Turn his world of certainty to guava jelly.
Pretzel his bent dialectical with slow joy.
I'd like to waterboard all the wicked witches.
of the East and West until they scream, wet with sin,
and dissolve into ecstatic, glissy twitches,
like at the end of the movie, when we all grin.
I'm tired of being a piata poster child.
The pintail-ass blind mutes stab without compunction;
beaten and beaten in the gain-of-function style,
until I'm in need of last rites and extreme unction.
Since God died, there's no Forsaker to kick around.
I am the Alpha-Omega dog, lost and found
