Thursday, January 31, 2008


Miranda Marvel was a hooker
Who specialized in sucking toes.
Men in D.C. lined-up to book her;
And while she sucked, they spilled their woes.
With one foot pressed against her titties
A Congressman talked of committees.
One, filled with loathing and self-doubt,
Was tortured about coming out;
A Senator- who loved to tweak her
Nipples while pumping her behind
Must have thought her deaf, dumb, and blind-
Spilled secrets about Madame Speaker.
And what she learned while on the job
She sold for plenty to the mob.
The mob then sold this information
To lobbyists for even more.
When she got wind of this relation,
It made Miranda really sore.
She thus approached the very snobbiest
Of firms and asked to be a lobbyist.
And, having worked the town for years
And made more than a few careers,
Was brought on board. With her connections,
Her clients would be quite well served.
Their business interests well preserved.
If not, why in the next elections
She’d threaten that she’d go deep throat…
And, just like that, could swing their vote.
What made Miranda so well suited
For modern Washington, D.C.,
Was that she was so constituted
That sexually she’d no I.D.
She’d graduated Barnard College
In poli sci and carnal knowledge;
And since she could swing either way
Her clients were both straight and gay.
She hadn’t been at all political-
Republicans or Democrats,
She’d service toms or pussycats.
To her they all were parasitical;
And lobbying, god only knows,
She thought more fun than sucking toes.
But how inaugurate my story?
Miranda Marvel’s 26;
Is vain about her beauty’s glory;
Was taken in by politics
Not for the power but by the money,
As bees to flowers making honey;
Her figure is, without excess,
By far too beautiful to dress.
At five foot ten, she’s tall and striking-
The face that launched a thousand ships
Is only so much fish and chips
Compared to hers. Blond as a Viking
Warrior queen, hard-bodied, blue eyed
That never could be satisfied.
In short, she’s well equipped for duty;
Unlike the soldiers in Iraq
Who go equipped like Howdy-Doody
Whose strings are cut or fallen slack.
Those last four lines give you the setting
In which my story starts. I’m betting
That you’ll remember, buckaroos,
The waterboarding and thumbscrews
Used by the Bush administration
To do away with civil rights,
Gone whimpering to their good nights.
But if it’s any consolation
The Constitution’s citadels
Are guarded by nine Claribells.
Miranda didn’t get an office,
As most high rollers in D.C.
“The ethics panels surely’d off us,”
Said her director Mrs. Brie.
Brie gave her keys to an apartment
No larger than a glove compartment
Where she continued sucking toes
And doing what, god only knows.
Her working digs were disappointing
As was her job- the in-house whore
Entrapping men and women for
The Firm. And as for they’re appointing
Her lobbyist with clientele,
Apparently it didn’t jell.

Miranda thought about resigning
When finally she caught a break.
A Congressman opposed to mining-
But who, most def, was on the take-
Was upset at The Firm’s solution
With funds they called a “contribution”
To his campaign committee so
He threatened all out quid pro quo.
He said he’d trot out depositions
From voters in his District who
Were breathing air and turning blue
Brought on by fossil fuel emissions.
But if supplied with antidote
He’d surely know which way to vote.
Democracy is at its finest
For corporations like The Firm
When dealing with the asininest
Of Congressmen. They had his sperm.
In fact, had vials and vials of specimen
(So here’s a toast to them- God bless he-men.)
Stored safely in a freezer bank
In case persuasion drew a blank.
Miranda was a little nervous
When, posing as an office clerk,
She bearded him. He went berserk
But finally calmed. “I’m at your service,”
He said as he complained of those
Who’d take advantage of his toes.
That night, Miranda celebrated
The little part that she had played
In keeping politicians mated
In favor of all those who paid.
That was the cost of legislation
When doing business with the nation.
Whatever Congress wanted done,
Despite sometimes cost overrun,
Was done by businesses. Hard charging-
To go where none had gone before,
(And sometimes using her hard-core)-
Was necessary for enlarging
Their profit margins. Rules got bent
Buy only for our betterment.

She thought all this while she was drinking
By herself in a Georgetown bar.
Decided to get really stinking.
Decided not to. “Go too far
And I’ll end up just like my mother,”
She thought. “Barkeep, bring me another.”
Then, “Hell with her and all of them.”
A man behind her said, “Ahem.”
She looked and saw an old professor-
Well not so old at 42-
And swiveling round said, “Look at you!”
“Miranda Marvel best b.s.’er
I ever had in any class.”
“And always checking out my ass.”
He laughed and ordered them martinis;
And said, “You made it to D.C.”
“And here’s to all the liberal wienies
Preventing us from living free.”
He laughed again. “What are you doing?”
She thought to tell him she was screwing
For money, sucking toes and “meat”
But said, “I work for Dillard Peet.”
“The lobbyists?” he asked, excited.
“The very same.” But her reply
Was dragged out with the kind of sigh
That said her job had not requited
The love of money she’d expressed
In college, leaving her depressed.
Her ex-prof’s name was Joseph Patton-
Professor of philosophy
At Barnard College in Manhattan,
A graduate of USC.
His dazzling looks made libbers falter
With thoughts of going to the altar.
For Patton- handsome, dark, and tall-
Could drive most women up the wall.
His politics had predilections
For workers’ rights while on their jobs;
And teaching this to Barnard snobs
Had transformed some in their convictions.
Or else it seemed the perfect chance
To get inside Joe Patton’s pants.

They spent some time in reminiscing.
They’d moved now to a far back booth
With couples all around them kissing
As Patton said, “…like sucking tooth.”
Miranda asked, “You want to try it?”
Patton replied, “If I denied it,
I’d be a liar…” “I’m a pro,”
She blurted out but kept it low.
Then Patton did the unexpected.
He sat back. Staring hard he said,
“I know.” Miranda cocked her head
And asked, “You know?” “I’ve been elected
My union’s education rep;
But finding you was still a step.
“We’re nothing if not good researchers.”
“My name came up in your research?”
“No, not at first. But nothing nurtures
A motivated soul to search
Out a woman with brains and beauty
Who’s not afraid to sell her bootie.
And then, of course, you can’t forget
That everything is on the Net.”
“Impossible. I’m just not listed
Like other…whores who advertise.”
She said the word to emphasize
That she was down and dirty. Twisted
Enough to never break her heart
For peddling her pastry cart.
“That’s true. Which why it wasn’t easy.
Though neither was it very hard.
Remember Congressman Capizi?
The guy your firm said had co-starred
In gay porn flicks when he was younger?”
Miranda thought and then she hung her
Blond head and sighing said she did.
“I sold him for the highest bid.
But when he lost the next election
With charges that he’d done gay porn
I felt so lost, so damned forlorn.”
Then looking up said, “On reflection…”
And let it hang. “Get out of here.
He paid the price for being queer.”

“You really did the guy a favor.
He’s teaching now at Santa Cruz.
You’re maybe even his lifesaver.
He said he would have blown a fuse
If he’d stayed hidden in the closet…”
“So good for me. I’m Santa Claus. It
Doesn’t make a diff to me, Joe.
Now tell me why you’re here or go.”
“In L.A. there’s a group of preachers
Whose Bible college scholarships
Are tangled in apprenticeships
With making pornographic features.
Then they’ll develop Bible porn
For those who want to be reborn.”
“What’s Bible porn. You can’t be serious,”
Miranda said, as Patton smiled.
Then said, “I know it sounds delirious…”
“It sounds like something out of Wilde.”
“They claim that porn will make us pious
Because it will so horrify us
When we are shown the sequels of
What happens to immoral love.
Called ‘Bad Girls Out of Bible Stories,’
They’ll show how man has been undone
By women who just want some fun;
What might have been our future glories,
If Adam had been resolute
In kicking Eve in her patoot.
“It also taps the biggest market
That hasn’t yet been tapped by porn.
They’re hoping ‘Jesus X’ will spark it,
As ethanol the price of corn.
But most of this is speculation.
What we now need is confirmation.
That’s mainly why I’ve come to you.”
“And what am I supposed to do?”
“To snoop around. Fish out the story.
Find where they’re shooting, if they are.
We’ve heard they’re looking for a star.
A fresh face for a category
Unprecedented- triple x
Promoted by religious sects.”

“Since when though would some academics
Care much about a triple-x?”
“To help us carry out polemics
Against the sanctity of sex.
If we can show they’re selling beaver,
We might convince the true believer
There’s nothing wrong with sex per se;
And makes no difference if you’re gay.
On top of which to sell redemption-
To make a profit selling ass,
We just might make it come to pass
That churches lose their tax exemption.
In turn we think this would translate
To separating church and state.”
Miranda, first, was sympathetic
To Patton’s goals until she thought
If he turns out to be prophetic
The price she sold her “hot to trot”
Would take a dive into the toilet.
Much better working to despoil it.
And helping him to follow through
Might cost her some in revenue.
Might even make her job respectable
And flood the market with supply
In which case her demand might die.
Plus businesses were all subjectable
To paying taxes to the state
At who knew what god-awful rate.
“It’s clear,” she thought, “I’m not so happy
At least not in my current job.
But making videos? A trap he
Hasn’t thought of was it will rob
Me of a chance I’ll ever marry
(Although that thought was somehow scary)
Because these films would make the Net
From San Francisco to Tibet.
The Net allows for no forgetting.”
She’d known some girls who’d starred in porn
Who’d grown disgusted they’d been born.
Their images just kept on spreading.
A girl she knew had tried to hide
And finally did …in suicide.

“His plans,” she thought, “were grandiosities
Compounded by his politics
Which made of them all huge monstrosities
Like penises in porno flicks.”
Because of this she felt so cheerless;
Or else because she felt careerless.
And on the verge of saying “No,”
She laughed and said, “If you say so.”
Like Julia in Byron’s “Juan,”
There’s no accounting women’s haste
When they decide that they’ll lay waste
To challenges. Now here’s a new one-
On videos she’d make l’amour
And come out looking simon-pure.
They left the bar and started walking
Towards the Potomac, arm-in-arm;
And as they did she started talking,
And he got tangled in her charm.
Not that it took too much persuasion.
They went at it like Ike’s invasion;
But this time in a Georgetown park.
When lying sweaty in the dark,
She told him that she’d grown conflicted
About the wasted life that she
Had spent while working in D.C.
“The wounds have all been self-inflicted
But maybe I can try again.”
Then laughing softly said, “Amen.”


Elections are like home invasions-
The minute you turn on TV
Your home is filled with pols whose suasions
Want you to vote them nominee.
You could turn off the television
But sit there trapped in indecision.
And while you do you’re overrun.
You can’t fall back on 911.
Now, listening to their histrionics,
You’re overcome and so you vote
To buy their promissory note.
Then while you’re sipping gin and tonics,
They’re back again and like King Lear
You find yourself out on your ear.

Monday, January 28, 2008


Who cares if we’re a superpower
If that means that we get to kill
All those not in our ivory tower
Atop our city on the hill?
It started off with independence
And ended with us as defendants
Who parcel out electric shocks
To who sits in the jury box.
What profits us to go flag-waving
And say it stands for equal rights
When we distribute human blights?
Yet don’t believe we’re misbehaving
When we elect us pols who tend
To treat the world as “as man’s best friend.”

Friday, January 25, 2008


If Democratic voters rallied
For principles not candidates,
Then all the pols would have been Ali’d
Or pounded punchy. No debates
Will ever bother to uncover
Why we patrol the earth. We love her?
Now there’s a laugh. And here’s one more-
What happened to make love not war?
It’s been around awhile. That issue
Defined a generation that’s
Been vilified as democrats.
Now all that’s left is dead scar tissue
Reminding us of why we fought-
To free the universal “ought.”
As in a principle generic
Consistent with our human rights;
Eliminating acts barbaric
Promoting only human blights.
Take, for example, exploitation-
Eliminating its causation
So that the workers’ status quos
Go far beyond the CIO’s
Of adding pennies to make dollars;
But taking business in their hands
Force capital to make last stands;
And celebrate with hoots and hollers
As workers think what they will do
When value makes its new debut.
If you think this but Marxist folly,
Consider that it’s not been tried.
Marx would have said we’re off our trolley
If we thought he had rectified
All problems posed by social justice.
The old man surely would have cussed us
If we claimed exploitation’s root
Was, gardenlike, forbidden fruit-
When really it’s one cause of many.
While certainly a cause of pain,
Life’s problems are a daisy chain.
As others argue, nota bene,
If we seek justice once for all,
Then look to Plato or St. Paul.
( to be continued )


Who thinks that Hill will stop the warring
That Cheney started in Iraq,
Must think that Bill will stop the whoring
That charges his atomic cock.
Who thinks it will be by Obama
Is channeling the Dalai Lama.
Though Edwards is against the war,
It’s still his vote we're paying for.
I say we boycott this election
For all the candidates are true
To waving flags red, white, and blue
Above the globe till Resurrection-
Which might be soon, to say the least,
Since Empire’s Mark (is) of the Beast.


To think that voters get excited
Because their candidate’s no friends
Who’ve not come close to being indicted.
But that’s before THE MAN ascends
To office where inflexibility
Needs service by malleability.
If conquering requires a stoop,
Then s/he’ll need friends who’ll play the dupe.
The Clinton/Bush administrations-
Both governors who left the South
By talking out both sides their mouth-
Avoided their incarcerations
Because a friend fell on his sword.
More than St. Pete did for his Lord.

Monday, January 14, 2008


Here’s hoping that no more emotion
Will filter in to Clinton’s spiel.
It might have helped her self-promotion
But really what did it reveal?
Did it reveal her fortifying
The same ground Bush did, justifying
His sending soldiers to Iraq
To prove we’re still cock of the walk?
It’s all a bunch of jabberwocky
With body language neocons,
Protecting inner Genghis Khans,
Have always used when things got rocky.
What’s new will be her tears of grief
If Clinton’s Commander-in-Chief.

Thursday, January 3, 2008


There is no time like an election
For citizens to seize the day,
Expressing all their disaffection
At politicians' appliqué-
I mean the bullshit they are smearing
On TV screens, electioneering
So they can ride the gravy boat
They’ve bought and paid for with our vote.
They’ll all turn out as double-crossers,
Especially ones like old Ron Paul
Who’d do away with city hall.
(But he was left by flying saucers.)
The rest of them deserve our Rome’s
Power. If only we had catacombs.