This is city boy poetry best read aloud, flick the lights baby, nix the glare, nap later, hear this ink, cat, this is expresso mainlined at the tabloid throat of Republican engineering of our elections. This speech is hip, sphere peering, an eye over the pollster penthouse on their eagle’s nest and an ear too far to hear their rap.
Against our cities, Red States are under radio and it’s rage, television and it’s terror, where change is backward and the future is doom, a hairdo lock on brazen congregations, and Republicans put them there. As the years go by, polyester DJs at high power towers skipping the ionosphere, linen Preachers at neon pulpits of the Satellite Wildwood, tweed Candidates in hallway of the Pork Seasons Resort, silk Developers in the limousines of link chain industries, counting recliners where days are slow and persecution remains in compounds of poverty already sold to the Bought.
A recent internal Republican poll found that 30 percent of their likely voters shop at Wal-Mart at least once a week with a 56 point Republican edge of Wal-Mart women and 64 percent of men in the group for McCain.
In the Republican pewsuit of demographics, the only reach the Republican Party has organized in its history is the terrible wee avarice they parade to denominations of the fearful, their showcase of cameo demons on the alter of the purse and the coin, a tax table choir of paycheck jingles, bowtie jingo, logo limbo, me too voodoo, slogan lotto, fraudulent kudos and felonious salutes to the am-fm militia and television’s seeramic army, the group for McCain, sculptured earwax under a propaganda hill in a wilderness we cannot protect.
Men too bold for honor strut the spectrum these many years, stained our airwaves in the electoral spittoon, cheap humor, short pride, quick bully, permanent pathology and war, not security nor diplomacy nor sensibility nor community nor prosperity nor civility nor mobility nor warmth on their muddy plank, it is their sneer of pride, genius for applause, wit of scorn, casino pollsters snarking oil’s balm in snakes of tilt-up campaigns in a mall of lies.
Our Kilroy is not safe, cannot be, was never, is not behind America’s gates, but hour by hour is penetrated by microphones taunting skulls across dry Nevada to Wyoming, crude Alaska, Oklahoma and Texas, the pew’s manure onto Dakota and Montana in waves of hatefulness across the plains, stalking Iowa, Nebraska, frequencies of bile billow our flag, fresco of gluten judgment and starch dominance, a white knuckle winter across the South, the Republicans police their privy dominance to proffer veneer homesteads to drive-by pioneers that will bring to the polls rural Americans the Republicans have driven to paranoia, cynicism and distrust.