Imagine a beer spokes-model
with an attraction-to-disaster IQ of 180
has a really dedicated energy he expends
on inventing a purpose for being
his very own fiefdom leader, multi tasking
as the gang master of a glamorous staff of
peace-nicks manning the decks at
suicide hotline in central Bagdad.

Say he works out the answer to
middle East peace on the back of a

is a sado-alcoholic who keeps a naggin
of whiskey hidden in the toilet cylinder
of the bunker where the red button rests

and his radiantly soft, supple and youthful
looking skin, glows perfectly flawless at
the stroke of a powder brush, beautifully
crafted to blend and match those top
flaws with a sheer cover of corrective
cosmetic camouflage.

instead of being careful, he's care free
with an effortlessly simple economic fitness
regime, to keep family and national finances
balanced behind the complexion of democracy

moisturized with tinted concealer, remotely
applied when directing insurgency busting
exercises on the Irish highway into green zone

like a play station gamer cleaning up with
actively soft soaping outlooks that suck up
grease by sleight of hand, in an easy,
no nonsense neo-con swindle no one believes
in but him

Halliburton shareholders, soldiers of fortune
corporate stock holders, private security
companies who profit from war, and those who
like their god angry, righteous, out to
remove the menacing threat of terror that
can make kids watching Mickey Mouse Club
switch off through fear,

stop rich kids on the road to decadence from
getting personal valets for thirteenth
birthdays because their parents are too scared
of who the help might be

and quiet the question demanding an answer for
the thousands who die over discredited
documents, dismissed and forgotten by
politicians who got it wrong from the word go

and who
three years later with no end in sight
and a world losing all faith in their words
still insist they did things because
- just like John Edgar Hoover and Joe Ray
McCarthy -
they love America.