Theodore Roosevelt's Bathtub

Posted by Erik Moshe on Saturday, November 24, 2012 Under: Rhymed Verses

Whenever I’ve lost myself in the countryside, my own reaction’s to follow me
From the outback to the colonies with a mustache the color of waxy mahogany
Photograph cracked, and fiat flak distracts that the dollar’s but a hollow green
Product of fractional reserve banking black market bastion monopolies
I’m a novice, a sheet metal technician, a man who cashed in a lot of cream
I’m a rusty titanium American, stabbed in his arteries
A cross between Julius Caesar and Marcus Aurelius, duality in catholic symbology
Had respect for the founding fathers...owed my dad an apology
We moved to Queens in a copper-plated Volkswagen stacked with afropornography
On the back burn was Bartleby with mountain cat fur stashed in his property
At home, doing Pilates in calfskin in the light of the fireplace glare
Riding the carousel of broken dreams, hallucinating from higher state…fair
Visitor, please, before you retire, wait there.
Stock market in dire straits, Blair has an iron gait, but opens it to violate shares
Watch your life savings cascade into the darkness like Tyra Bank’s hair
Life’s a Southern dairy farm, but I’d doubt that bison graze there
If the water rises, Icengate’s here, now there’s a price to pay, dear…
Knifes were held, in 1912, these nine teens dwelled
With packs of Nintendo Cuban cigars and the carcass of an unlikely elk
Dignitaries of the mighty Welsh, visionary of the light beam rails
Road paver, gold taker, coal shaker, hardly ever been paid
Lieutenant Colonel of the muckrackin’ stonemason jabberjaw Jackson tar & feather brigade
Salad bar magnates were tossed a hell of a way -
Barons milked the country for it’s worth, dumped the rest at the breast of the bay
There’s no formal acronym for that; they put a halt to presidential veteran‘s pay
Would you believe me if I told you that Bill Clinton’s never been laid?
Or that Rudy Guiliani is an estrogen slave with transvestite lead in his veins?
Just do your homework. Leave mechanical pencils, surveillance phantoms & drones
Cause once we get to the woodworks we’ll erase the past and draw a plan of our own
Understand, as a clone, androids get no sleep where the animals roam
I dream of the disposition matrix and how I’d dispose of Leon Panetta’s abode
Or Andrew Polk’s old scuba diving kit, or George Herbert Walker on a jogger’s track
Sportin’ sporty Spalding slacks, Aleister Crowley’s gothic parka & a Dodger’s cap
Dodging capital punishment, runnin’ shit using criminal scams
The bloodline is transparent when there’s a clan of Skeletors guided by invisible hands
This isn’t grand, we’re individuals standing in the brunt of this tomb
Whether blunted or shroomed, us bunker busters made adjustments to prove
Why hunt elephants in the jungle when there’s already one hunched in the room?
They’re pulling the strings, they’re burning the ends, they’re fuckin’ with you
He was the owner of a wealthy gold mine but what he practiced was modesty
& if you haven‘t heard it thru the grapevine, Romney can gag on a fragment of olive tree
Axe trigonometry, hatchets for botany - my man joined the frontier lines
Humming “This is my rifle, there are many others like it but this one is mine”
Yet the true stockpile of weapons is in the barcode on his neck, hidden in London time
The Bank of England is Fort Knox, they’re importing heroine silk off fuel ramps
Defended the Alamo from outside forces but you’re still on food stamps?
That’s too damn bad, it’s a blip on the pacifist radar, so triple the asterisks
In reality, World War One should’ve had a multiple digit integer after it
Signifying the multiple conflicts the terrain absorbed, our blood’s been drained before
Shot down the plane of thought but never thought to use a Pagan sword
A nameless lord stepped forth, his face wrinkled like a California raisin’s core
He told me “Washington is a bustling brothel, and I’ve never raised a whore”
Needless to say he didn’t adopt us, no noble teachings
The omens of Grover Cleveland were composed of supposed grievings
We shared grievances about the reasons the doors to your homes are creaking
Thomas Jefferson lamented the sentence “he wasn’t born to be king”
So he ducked the banks, roasted the opium dens, began to gorge on Peking
This is an attempt to reinvent an hourglass of the past, if you’re feeling these bars
It’s static, politically charged, with ballast fastened to auxiliary barbs
He wore the Libyan mark. Gaddafi was swallowed by Hillary’s jaws;
In closing, the four horsemen had an exaggerated workload -
They were found slacking off in the desert. Arabs paid for calibrated search probes
This is more American than Non Phixion, Apple Alizé and Talladega dirt roads
“Geologists don’t kick rocks in the same sense that we do.”
:fragment from Galileo’s church woes..

In : Rhymed Verses 

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