Monday, April 26, 2004

Genesis P vs. the News.

International aid workers responding die for me.
Do 76 students love me enough to give up their lives?
An incinerated primary school in the desert,
rail explosion killed the crumbling city,
Caused by human error, but do you love me?
Can a train carrying chemical fertilizer be as sad as it seems?
At this, the old man smiled.
A fireball swept through a cafe in Tangier
destroyed a school from his wrist to his elbow.
Hospitals demolished today.
Aid workers searched the boy with my hand on his thigh,
searched through the wreckage for the injured in the corner.
Unification Minister started to smile,
coordinated relief teams as he lay on the bed.
President smiled as his
accident went twitch twitch twitch
as famines dribbled out of the end onto the floor with
nuclear weapons technology to the side.
Bohr wondered what to do with his knowledge
while the WHO strengthened its nuclear deterrent by the bed on the floor.

Two soldiers were killed 23 hours of the day,
as the vein swelled and the blood came.
Basra stuck the needle in his arm
and watched the oil turning in the glass
and wondered where he'd be sitting tomorrow
and what damage would pass that day.
The US Navy's Fifth Fleet killed in a cafe in Tangier
when upon the boarding team came Captain Clark,
killed and wounded 23 years and a day,
shut down and evacuated the corpses to Spain.

Iraq's Southern Oil Company drew a line across the water,
No damage if you're dead
IMF dignitaries attending the water
look up in the sky
at Germany up above.
And it's a bright economic outlook if it rains on you.

At this the old man smiled
and hoarded cookies as he paid the bill,
steadily deflated around the corner,
and came undone back in the Bowery.
There that cripple was bent double naked on the floor
and died in a firefight with some kind of cream.
The dead football player was all a dream
for the patriotic blind men
with white sticks
behind TV screen
in Afghanistan,
just try to eat us.

John McCain welcomed you aboard
with your fellow Americans, from New York to Miami
before you crashed in a forest
peril growing cold.
Blood runs from family and friends' faces
"Why me?" "Why?"
while Paul Newman drinks in the gutter and the water
turns Princeton students to gangrene, dangling themselves
before the University that went to slaughter.

At this, the old man smiled,
forgot the upset faces the same way as before,
arranging his things
neat and tidy
according to tradition
in a cafe in Tangier.
Alcohol is the way the world ends,
Not with an overdose, but with a whimper.

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