poor Joe Biden, died this afternoon in the middle
of an ice cream cone. he was halfway through
the thing and smiling so simply.
CNN seemed determined he finish it
with all America watching. and the cameras
still rolled, the text crawler still scrolled
something about Acorn. he clutched
his chest, then the railing. the NASDAQ
leaped so slightly, the Dow impassive.
what a mess on main street
somewhere in the pro-America
lower forty-eight, Sarah Palin
gunned down by a helicopter-full
of timber wolves? her glasses,
nicked discreatly from the scene
by a passerby, fetched a handsome
sum on eBay.
yesterday morning at dawn
local celebrity, millionaire,
zealot, village idiot
Superdell Schanze flew
his motorized hang glider
into a beautiful cirque of granite,
lone peak, like one of Kerouac's
roman candles, mad to be saved
mad to be governor, mad
to be loved, and famous and armed.
*"The calavera (skull) is a typical Mexican satirical style of poetry. It originated between the 15th and 18th centuries, but grew in popularity at the dawn of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century. The calavera poem is typically associated with Day of the Dead, and it became a journalistic genre at the end of the 19th century during the regime of Portfirio Diaz. The fliers that circulated during those times included angry verses against the dictator Diaz, and his cabinet members. Throughout Mexico, calaveras were also dedicated to working class people, always with a hint of sarcasm and humor at the inevitability of death. Today, calaveras can be written about anyone."
a little more info here.
hey! write your own and post it here, please.
(I mean once you've already gone and voted, that is.)