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  1. RE:RE:RE Armed Madhouse Some poets philosophers truth sayers have a phrase that cannot be beat Allen I see you hovering half naked and hairy possessed through your mother with Blake’s visions I hear you crackling on fire chanting Hare Krishna while I sit chilled immobilized Protests have become farce the means of production zip back in forth silently their karma hidden Shaman’s poison darts killing at a distance we breed The Poor to be our feet in fields of death The alchemists battle has been won The Stone has been digitized and kills remotely without moral consequence a cold and delicate immortality flying an all seeing eye into places we were not meant to see I wish we’d listened To John Bill Jack Ken and Tim all your friends -- I’m sure you have found eternal good times now -- And kept the xenophobic beasts of Philip Howard in their proper cages I listen to war drums and hear an eldritch howling I read the smug embracing of blood seeing only inmates tracing tentacles on white walls all night and day.
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