Bat-Crap Crazy: A Song for a New ‘Murica

I posted this in February, but after last night, I feel it rather timely.

The Smell of My Own Poop

In the dead of night,
In the cold light of day,
Our greatest fears and brightest truths collide

The institution that is ‘Murica
Which long ago stood proud and tall
Symbolic of all things possible

Now withers, undeterminable under the mighty cloaks
Of hubris, commerce, and war.
A land balkanized, in ways not even imagined
Just one generation ago.

All sides seek justice:
Many seek to maintain the justice and service
They feel they have rendered dutifully for generations.
Others seeking to avenge the injustice
Others have wrought upon it
Seeking retribution for, and escape from, these wrongs.

A man, long ago, who was hubris personified
Warned us that ‘men are not angels’.
Yet here we are, clamoring to elevate
Mortal wo/man to the highest order
S/He to whom we would swear oaths to follow
Each claiming to rebel against the immutable, unjust bureaucracy
But who now, dance before us…

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