The Billionaire’s Pastiche

Riot. Riot. Riots.

They have built a mountain out of

A net, a web, a pedagogy of

Who was this man?
Who are the high-excluded,
the killers of the four Kennedys?
These star controllers
with patents and chipsets,
electrodes and diodes,
colluding the genetic flora genomes,

oh, a far off quota
hidden in iron mountains under
different ultraviolet spectrums.

For we must be altered
so they there,
so they there can live.
Remember the Agora!
Remember the Forum!

But the riot. Riot. Riots
could stop this
if words could meet them
on the other side of the electrical
beyond the spell of electrical devices,

in their hearts out in the streets.

The riots inside of their hearts.

Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin

Throwing Burgers

We’ll throw some burgers
on the grill That’s what
large scale manufacturing
affords us on this Friday
evening for us Throwing
pattied piles of ground up cows
to celebrate Our kids swimming
’round the pool with chlorine
and bovine fecal matter
floating ’round their blood
for later permutations of
congressmen To refrain their
handiwork with the agriculture
companies We are the normal
people We are the normal
people We feed our children
what business people and
government officials attain
in their singular way of $ucce$$
and configure We worship
the Beast

– Poetry by W.T. tuqMairtin