for the next four more

We hate this job:
newspoet
wanna quit
The pay
let's face it
ain't there
And the news
well
it ain't no bed
of roses are red
it's more like
violence is blue
black and white
blood red all over
Naw it's a bed of thorns
not a crown of any kind
except maybe a crowning insult
to injury
salt in our wounds
when it reigns its poor
We thought
shit!
That's it!
we'll get Nader in there
and we'll retire
we'll sell the site
to NBC or
Microsoft or
Eastgate Systems
after all
We'll move on to
writing
newsromancenovels
and newswesterns
and say

"Remember when poetry
was political? That was
a bad time. So many trees
went unwritten about
or were bombed
or destroyed
by deforestation
to print so many
copies of the
Starr Report"

Seems so long ago

We got no checks
and balances anymore
We maybe gonna getta
dumbass fratboy
in the white house
I woke up
afraid of the police
and knew that this morning
I had to come to work
at the newspoetry HQ
and the news was going
to be ickier than ever
stickier than ever
nothing you could
make a poem out of

Another day
another four years

We got to keep
writing
electronic political poetry
kids
because
while campaigning
Dubya said
with reference to the Internet
and websites critical of his ass:

"there ought to be
limits to freedom."

Congress shall make no law preventing an establishment of a goofy website, or prohibiting the free updating thereof; or abridging the freedom of poetry, or of the Internet; or the right of the people electronically to assemble, and to harangue the government for a redress of grievances.

Keep on writing
Keep on pushing the limits
Keep on pissing on the limits
Keep on cussing
Keep on dissing Johnson
Keep on tracking those tips
Keep on reading those
bulldozed trees
known as newspaper
Keep on keeping on trucking
Trying to take back what is ours:
language

I REGRET TO INFORM YOU
THAT YOU HAVE NOT BEEN TERMINATED

Keep on screaming about it
so loud the Whole Wankin' Web can hear
It's the crossword puzzle
we have to bear