walking down the aisle alone

the artists cry
tyranny i hear them
when they talk
of politics and presidents

still, they cry
and cry, make tall iron art
and sick twisted images
of christ sucking cock

then, they cry
more poetry about
the little hitler
and they put their finger
under their nose

to keep away the stench
they cry and cry

and cry for
OUR country they
say stolen by fucking
fascist neo-conservative
haters.

then they cry for
the poor as they
drive past in limos
guzzling gallons of
gas.

then they cry for
this poor sad earth
too fragile to support
we thick headed
fat americans

that that stupid
moron in the the
big
white
house
refuses to save by
respecting established science

then they cry
for hypocrisy
of oil profits and
christian prophets of
twisted doom.

oh those artists
cry so well
professional
they spell our doom
with their oils, charcoal
ink, acrylic, voices, guitars
and the spastic few their
hollywood moxie.

it all begs the question,
in this sea of their hate
and tears

what is it that they have all
been prevented from saying
while they all told me i could not
disagree?