Richard Tornello

I

I’m sick of living

the sub-urban

blight sub divided

Purple, black, dark, or red,

Across your bottom these colors spread.

Skimpy wimpy bits of cloth,

To see them on,  is to want them off.

Your job sucks.

You’re low on bucks,

and your vehicle needs repair.

Warm wishes,

cold fishes,

and kisses in the air.

No affection.

Halloween in the news room
Mendacity in the briefing room
Conspiracy in the back room
New laws written in the board room
Republic in the toilet.

Up congress, down congress
Each hand out for cash
See inside congressmans house
Kissing lobbyist ass.

Birds of a feather will flock together.
So will pigs and swine.
Presidents and lackeys pick their choice,
and the republic dies on the vine.

The headline reads:

“Ten reasons we’re no longer the land of the free.”

The satellite radio station touts the importance,

an interview with a singer from the group YAZ.

Of purloined poison, their words are spoken
Our congress, and its maj-es-ty.
They speak of glory,  (tis all in vain).
Yet, hoping for a  truthful token,
I cling to their words,
like a fly on turds,
And wonder, what shit for brains!

The Origins Of Our Species

Or

Some thoughts on a letter from Martha Washington to a friend

And some articles in SCI-AM

My Grandpa is a scientist so I think he knows the best.

My mother says that Grandpa, can really be a pest.

I know that Grandpa knows a lot, says my sister is a bot.