Serial Killer

The court room, a space for humans
To have their law made manifest —
All rise —
fleshy obedient obelisks roused
From quarter-till slumbers —
Tall, proud-ish monuments
Pay their respects
to the black-robed
Withered orb
That paces paces paces to the bench —
You may be seated
The power of those few words:
A thousand little blue pills
For one big throbbing green ego —
But, if you look closely,
a myriad of strings
play about his lips
Pinocchioly unaware —
He’s just the master downstairs

The Legislative —
Engages in highfalutin fuckery
Because they know We The People
Have the attention span of
A squirrel watching a dog
Watch C-Span

The Judicial —
Interprets decades of sleepy reign
As precedence to thumb over
Constitutional norm,
As if it were a yacht club mag

The Executive — a supreme being
Sworn in on a copy of The Prince,
Presuming by virtue of an office title
And occupation of an
oval-shaped fucking room, 
He is thereby able to
target and liquidate
Poor brown Muslim Bedouins
between the ages of 18 to 35,
Routinely on Terror Tuesdays
And with the same weapon every time:
Drones —
All without a shred of due process..

— I’m no psychological profiler but
that sounds a fuck of a lot like an MO

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