They cry about heaven

Even as they transform skin

Into sin, punishable by death

Or rape, or disfigurement

Sent by the devil for sure

Wearing tonsures and cassocks

Causing their own brand of havoc

Ruled by insensitivity

Because we are the enemy

No longer human, doomed

To suffer the ravages

Of their bad potty training

And lack of discipline

Over and over again

On playgrounds as kids.


They did it all over again

When in uniform, warmed

By the glow of popular bigotry

Idiocy blessed by some dope,

Some Protestant proto-pope

Who thinks God has time

To engage in crime in his name

So they can blame him instead.

Little else in their head

The steal land, and brand people

Burn people, assault people

And do their best to make them feel

Their god, their way is not real

And is not worth keeping.


Sleeping at night, nobody knows how

Now that they have shown their colors

To their brothers and sisters;

That they will kill mothers and fathers

And babies and the land

And think it just grand

Because they got paid

As they laid waste,

Turned the gardens to paste

Between the toes of evil.

We the boll, they the weevil;

They mashed us under their feet

No thought of being discreet,

We were fodder for their hatriotism.


Not patriotism.

That is impossible

And totally improbable

Once you’ve sold your soul

To Old Nick and his minions,

Hell’s hand picked denizens

Who look just like your neighbor

They labor at jobs, like you do

And look a lot like you, too.

Especially if you make excuses

To commit abuses

And blame it on god.

Savor the rod

And abuse the child.

Isn’t hatred wild?

Always on hand.


Brent Kincaid


(Image from



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s