Bombs drop, watch them go: a ballet of blossoming fire flower dots
From Xtate with Love?
The scorched earth will stun the terrorists, communists, oppositionals
Of any kind. Call them what your time demands.
The guerrilla fighters cannot be seen from up here
What are these particular ones demanding?
Separation? Rights? End of oppression?
Insert your favourite political project please.
Planes spray defoliant to reveal, displace, disable, cripple
Those civilians below for generations; Agents Oh?
Radiating smiles would be the other irony.
If not this rain, choose the new pollution
Acid carried by the clouds over mountains, state borders and
Across the sea to reach you via airmail.
Your lungs already pussed with other garbage.
Sometimes the rain may be torrential, celebrities are air-lifted out
Presidents descended by helicopters, not staying long enough
To really get an idea of the stench and the rough.
Beam me up pilot! For I need to return to my office
To govern this or another country and my freedom-loving citizenry
More likely I will pay a visit to my oil, gold, freedom machines
That make me so different from my filthy subjects and others not worthy.
Thank God as pecunia non olet forever.
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