Tequila Class War Non Sequitur

[Irreverend Hugh, KSC]

Something from way back when.

(As democracy gets ground up into sawdust
and passionate plans are burned up
for their last shreds of warmth
it seems that life doesn't seem to be fitting
into the economy all that well.
It seems that the world has become filled with
fake dentists, rogue womanizing poets, terrorists,
drug dealing federal agents, cell phone addicted yuppies,
lesbian folksingers, and alcoholics who drink up all the Guinness
before I can get to the bar.

The community solidarity in my left big toe
gets stubbed out from my kick of frustration
and in the throbbing pain I feel capitalism's incessant need for a fix)

I gulp down my class war with shots of tequila
wondering how the vomit will smell to the rich
the White Mouse rambles on endlessly
and it's as if he's doing so purposely
to provide a background for my drunken thought tangents

My class war boils in my stomach
so I expose and polarize more social contradictions
by slamming down more tequila
until society erupts in my body with the spinning hurling nausea
and I can swear that the revolution has finally come.

"Nope," says the White Mouse. "You just got over-drunk."
I stumble home and into bed
all my attempts to think bungled up
by this time my hope in revolution is faded
and my ideology is whittled down to just hoping
not to wake up hung-over.

[1/15/2002]