No words will prove a terminator
By which old evils come to naught;
But just might play facilitator
To revolutionary thought.
I tell myself this and keep trying
In hopes that I am signifying;
And will not prove a laughingstock
Who merely spouts in poppycock.
But fear I’m doomed to sermonizing,
In antiquated forms of verse,
Against the power of the purse-
A power that needs satirizing.
But satire’s play is all with words
That helps you see, not smell the turds.
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- AL ( OUT IN THE COLD ) GORE
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- DUDE, WHERE'S MY PARTY ?
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- ANONYMITY FOR WHOM?
- THE LESSER OF TWO EVILS
- WAKE UP AND SMELL THE STINK
- ON THE 50th ANNIVERSERY OF HOWL
- FOR HARRIET FRAAD
- FOR DAVID RUCCIO
- ▼ October (16)