The anthem’s of an enemy head—for his sockets
the mobs shoes shine like bullets.
I cover my heart with a cheeseburger,
up a meat-lover’s twat dubbed “the trendiest sex”
for all this fascination with the body, the kind
of patriot fucking his landlord wife.
I can’t remember a business suit worth dying for,
or hymns or religion kept to itself; that god being
The newscast gets every available shoulder,
every dusted flag from the hands of those people.
I rummage around looking for anything to cradle.