This isn’t a story about gonorrhea.
In fact, quite the opposite…
Imagine pissing roses
in front of armed cops.
Shower away your abusive power.
Hey, Los Angeles, how are you?
Have you hung sarcasm on a cross, yet?
Imagine world peace raped dignity.
By unlawful consensual standards,
you’d have to say please.
Hello, conscience, how’s it going?
Not good. What’s wrong?
Prime minister rat-pubican frosty
is now taking over Baskin Robbins.
Our country won’t be
of mix flavors anymore.
We’re divided; we’re stuck with vanilla ice.
Imagine burping demo-cats.
I assume a sniff movie about cats & pizza-gate.
Let’s not think analytical here…
hence ask yourself;
if I were Hannibal Lecter
which conspiracy parts would I eat?
The answer is simple: easy.
Copyright © 2017 Charlie Zero the Poet
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