Money drives the cows in this land.
A treacherous sea of willing souls
Aimless and perfunctory.
Frightened by the mill
That churns their bodies,
They have no other movement
It is not a movement we would recognize:
To carry arms and play army.
But, it seems that most men
Have no purpose in America,
Don’t measure their actions,
Don’t take account of what they are doing.
From Mexico to Oregon,
The grass-fed cows walked.
Their loins lean and their
What was weird was how
What fat they had was orange
It coated the system with
A plaque that only angioplasty
The doctor, if they made it that far,
Would take a simple wire
With a sharp tip and bang the insides
Of the aorta and all the plaque would
Be absorbed by the body.
Their hearts were still at risk;
Once you dislodged the truth,
It was possible that it would migrate
To the brain and cause a stroke.