Defense Department

Ground meat gristle war machine
with flag wave cross bone skull in green
it frenzy-feeds, farts and shits out
silver for the new Iscariot.
Kiss the race, the human face
shove your kids into its maw
hear the crow laugh, buzzards flap
sniff the stink of napalm death.
here’s the drug for you, my dear
meat on your plate, now chew, now chew
eat, choke clotted blood and spume,
exploded eye and swollen lung,
expose the spine and nerveless strings.
Ground meat gristle war machine
goes on and on across a plain
folded into fumaroles
where sky once was and in the fog
who sees the ugly ending come?

Metal machine drone insect wing
it roars and screams at everything.
it fills the bank with candy-jack
and slipper-blood and cadillacs
and everything for pretty princes
so witty, killing party jokes
anticipating tasty sorrow
lasting tears and ruined life
(that is no life, it’s just not death).
It really gets them off with glee
they spurt, the slackness flies so free
it's radiant like neutron waste
and glows on every poor man’s face
as they decide, like god above
how many towns to burn today;
and grinding gristle bone-machine
grabs hand and limb for grist and glean
to sweep the universe so clean,
the gleaming, shiny war machine;
the oligarchic endless dream
so safe in happy houses, free;
the Christmas tree is placed with care
above the salt-sown plain of fear.
Oh godly golden death, it gleams!
The gristle bone-crunch war machine.