Coneheads of Original Sin (poem)

Their tired political theorists
are raveled tactical satirists
providing explanations for the dead
merging evolution for the reds

A pure land of nematodes
grilled with ugliest media mud
from niched babes in beastly nodes
glow dead diners to be thrilled

Grisly chrome from Maine to Nome
shining things under the seas
gassed the night to burn the day
far flung sewer’d land of conehead loans

Defend oiled tarmac and pcb pots
defend the soil of union slaves
defend the darkness of evil days
to love the devil, like as not.





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