Drama in the court room.

All people want to know.

Who killed who?

Who shot who?

Who slit who’s throat?

With a camera in the court room

All people will be able to know.

How we can hear the emotional response

The victim on the stand.

The innocent man in the defendant’s chair

We’ll never know because the show had lots of fans.

The news will show the testimonies

The people will see the show…

Court rooms, justice

It’s all just for entertainment anymore.

We love to see the victim

Speak their sad, sad story.

The defendant is always guilty

Like the away team at the park.

But, for show, they always put him behind bars.

For our justice is a competition

To get the man behind bars.

Regardless, that you break the rules of the Bar.

You want your quota filled,

Irregardless to whether he committed the crime.

“Get that bad guy…”

But the investigation never takes the time.

There is the victim

On the chair singing their tune.

Most of the times they don’t even know;

And that defendant could one day be you.

You could be picked up off the street

For being in the wrong place.

The conviction could be based

On evidence that damns your fate.

Evidence, such as a little sliver of DNA.

You blew your nose on a hanky

And there it ended up near the scene.

Or, there’s a man trying to frame you

In order to get you back for some odd thing.

All that matters, is that the judge is always right.

Piously she sits there,

Seeing the defendant and the victim fight.

The victim, the victim, is always, always right.

It could be a false accusation

About rape or about a theft.

Maybe you had a one night stand

And we can all know now the rest.

Remember this, my friendly loves

The fact is so awfully grand…

In an age where the television is master

Our victims always win when they take the stand.

It’s no longer “Innocent until proven guilty…”

It is “Guilty until the gavel hits the grain.”

And the fact is everyone is guilty,

So, it is all going to end the same.

You raped a woman who had consensual sex…

According to Biblical laws it stands.

Pay the 500 dollars

But it is a capital offense in this land.

All of you, all of you,

Could be guilty of this crime.

A woman’s scorn berates you

Or you were a child, and didn’t lie.

TV courts, we all sympathize with the victims.

Because it’s easy, we all want to be.

But we’re all the flagrant felon,

That includes you, him, her, and even me.

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A Metaphor About Today’s Capitalism:

I recognize who you are.

I know you’re not the only one causing problems.

Frankly, though,

In a vision, as you doddled your clone on your knees,

Teaching him things you shouldn’t have…

You said you should be put in jail.

You said everything you do is legal.

This isn’t entirely true.

There are not allowed to be Trusts

Under US economic policies.

Corporations are supposed to compete with one another.

They aren’t supposed to band into leagues.

For very good reason…

On that account, you’ve broken every Trust law there is.

On a second account,

Monopolies are illegal.

But, you end up owning both brands

The red and the blue…

Wouldn’t that be considered a monopoly?

At the very least an Oligopoly?

I understand the attack is twofold.

On one hand, we’re being attacked by North African dictators.

They own half of our media.

On the other hand,

You’re in league with them.

Just like Ephraim was in league with Assyria.

Two powerful kingdoms

Forging their alliances…

The Corporation

And the Dictator.

I see you’re not an idealist.

You’re a pragmatist.

But, so long as you know…

You told me the whole thing

Which I must have seen in a dream.

But, there are much bigger fish to fry.

If you’re Athena;— Moloch…

A Prince Thor;— Baal…

A king Allah;— Sin…

Then I suppose you should know

That there is a God of one peculiar nation

That you do not know.

His name is Jesus.

Not Homer Afon,

But the Living Christ.

Truth is for sale—

Opinions, and neat little downloads

For our curious minds.

We sell them, like Bleach

Or like Coca-Cola.

Green is worth a few hundred million

Beta and Alpha males worth a couple more.

Libertarianism is a huge market

And Conspiracy Theories takes them all by storm.

Big Foot and Mermaids are now our History,

Aliens built the Pyramids.

Feminism makes lots of money—

Someone prospers off those vagina hats…

Republicanism and Democratism

Make a good, solid investment

Like they were treasury bonds.

They’re a small investment,

But one worth the time that you will ALWAYS make some money.

Multilevel Marketing schemes are worth a lot of money

So is self help.

So are the books we read,

So is the NFL trying to arbitrate Tuesday

As our holy day of doing laundry.

These are our products.

They are so efficient at being products,

That nobody really can get a word in edge wise.

It must all be cannon, and orthodox doctrine

According to the holy write

Of radicalism.

It must not be original

But must tout one party line.

If you believe in Markets

You must not believe in Global Warming.

If you believe in God

You must not believe in Evolution.

If you believe in gun rights

You must not believe in free healthcare.

See, it’s party lines

That have cornered the market on truth

And also their lies.

With truth on both sides of the argument

And lies therewith

The lies we believe are only as accurate as the truths we

Passionately hold onto; because we know the truth is accurate.

But, until the truth no longer exists

And only lies exist in our dogmas,

Those dogmas

Will be our indulgences.

Call me Martin Luther

Nailing my Ninety-Nine theses

On the door of Branding.

Brand is in my name;—

But, like you I am just another product.

Like Dogs

We make a cameo

In our lives, our

Perfectly specious lives; Lo!

Through the edges.

What you want

Is offered;

What is good

Is given.

The king says,

“What you want

“I will give

“If what is

“Good, you give.”

The king’s eyes

Watch. Loose what

Is wanted

And take what

Is needed.

The King will

Soon reward.

He sees a

Man with worth.

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We have free speech.

What crushes my soul,

More than anything else

Is the nagging thought,

“You’ll never feel your spouse.”

I suppose I thwart myself because of it.

What is the wealth of nations

Without someone to love?

The thought of being rich is frightening.

What’s more frightening is being rich

Without a woman who loved me when I was poor.

What’s more frightening

Is being poor, without a woman

And never eating from this labor.

My own stink rises up to my nostrils…

That foul smell of pajamas

Which were worn a little too long.

The smell of sleep.

Sleep… though ever pleasant

Scares me.

To sleep a life away

In my own stink…

Frankly, I’d share this body with my wife

And I’d be happy

Though poor.

But, the looming catastrophes lurk somewhere…

Are there trustworthy women?

I don’t know.

Seduction is an art…

There are men, many of them,

Who will seduce even the best of women.

There are women, the best of women,

Who turn bad, and then seduce the foulest of men.

So, I look at the riches.

I can eat…

Be praised.

Praise and wealth scare me.

I say to God, “If you can add no sorrows to it,”

Which, I forecast the sorrows of success.

Two times thwarted

I had the greats read me.

Pilidod Grass looks fine

And so does the harvest bread…

It will satisfy me if my bonny lass

Waits for me.

I’ll love her when she has mud

Upon her boots, and the dung of cows

Plastered on her worn out shoes.

Her hair tawny, and a mess

With a frown on her face because the cow gave no milk.

Her father waiting in the pantry,

For her milk to come, and the look of sheer astonishment on her face

When her favorite cow—she’d call it a heifer—

Didn’t give the milk needed.

Crying, she’ll go,

Where her father will beat her

For disobeying her…

Calling hers slack hands

Like mine…

Always disciplined for hard work

Thus it’s all we can do

To sit side saddled on our furniture

In our pajama stink.

Because work,

When we enjoyed it,

When we made the slightest mistake

That we could not control,

Was always disciplined.

Her with a rod,

I with a cruel rod too…

My dove…

Shunned by the ones I love

Because the utters didn’t produce milk.

And sure enough, my family and friends would go,

And miraculously—or otherwise cynically—

Pull and get a long draw of precious milk.

As if I’d never drawn milk from a cow…

They’d then tell me to draw the milk.

And it would work.

Happen to be…

They’d also know I tried

And would still discipline me.

What crushes my soul is that I have married a strange wife…

Like Elijah in Nehemiah,

Yet I cannot awaken from my sleep.

Be my muse tonight,—

A beautiful Savant has had visions

She has shown you happy with me

But impervious to the outside world.

Rightly, my suitors are chosen by God.

Which one would I want?

I don’t know, o’ angel spoken of in the pilidod grass.

Loneliness creeps very close to all of us…

The Laurel, the Savant, the Gift from God.

No… there is one for me…

I just have to choose.

Though I cannot…

We both mourn for this world

O’ Daughter of Zion.

It seems like sadness is in all men’s bones.

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