metric years

Bless me Father
for I have sinned.
It has been
metric years
since my last avowal.

I lose my bearings
to cardiac cuties
w/Leadbelly eyes.
I helped Lola
steal the sky
and watched Congress
ransom my country.

I bray on the sidelines,
a leveraged captain. My hands
where they shouldn’t be
and my debt
in the banker’s pocket.

I grease the gears of warring nations.
Guns and cash. Bodies and dope.
I pass between borders like money
and I assess what the last men standing
need to be the last man standing
and get it from my trunk.
Where I always carry dynamite
and a pile of prayer I’ve dis-used.

I know the resistance
needs command,
but I’m too accustomed
to wine these days.

And our feeble coup d’ etat
is just that, Father.
Feeble. Pale.
A slander. A joke.
Nary a fume
from the King’s fat ass.

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