False Profits

Even the super guru, seer, savior, prophet saint must die.
Oh, dedicated soap opera man of imagery, detergent and
my, my, my.
Lower head slightly for an incantation.
Lower bottom for a vacination.
Lower resistance for a long vacation.
Kiss me now, myriad colors cross the isthmus.
It’s now Friday, Saturday, Easter and Christmas.
I don’t know…
Is it the pill I snatched from the clown,
That makes me go up — when I want to be down?
False profits with colorful speeches
gathering congregations of flourescent leeches.
U.S. Marines storming tropical beaches.
Bloated bodies blanket the ground.
The silence of death… and no other sound.