Turd Blossom Rasputin
(From The Triumph of Strife: an homage to Dante Alighieri and Percy Shelley)

The rancid, rank Rasputin wracked his skull
For gutter sniping garbage he might fling.
Too bad his search returned a stinking null:

The same old FUBAR SNAFU REMFing thing
Attacks on patriots who bravely served
While he ducked out and dodged the bitter sting

Of Army basic training that unnerved
Those hothouse orchids needing tender care
So, far from foreign battlefield's he swerved

He took up "combat" speaking and hot air
To baldly spew the spittle of his mind
At invitation-only dinners where

Twerp Texans touting tripe could always find
More sunshine soldier salesmen of their kind

His masters fell asleep on watch a lot
So one day someone snuck up on the land
And borrowed four airliners for their plot

Which didn't seem inordinately grand
Just simply something unforeseen and bold
Which Dimwit Dubya couldn't understand

Or with his feeble frontal lobe take hold
A concept that eluded neural nets
So long unused and overgrown with mold

That no miniscule moron ever gets
A lesson wasted on the wooden head:
That empire over which the sun now sets

Sinks faster if all sanity has sped
Away along the path where wisdom fled

But those who lie and bully and deceive
To live by cretin creeds of vile dispute
Divide and rule but in the end receive

The toxins from the toilet they pollute
They drink the urine they themselves have pissed
And wonder why the duped alone salute

And not the ones who thoughtfully persist
In thinking for themselves and living free
Of fascists frothing foam and filthy mist

Like turds that serve up slander for a fee
Repuglican Rasputins think it sly
To proudly pen some libelous decree

Who never heard the angry bee go by --
Invisible, the deadly bullets fly

How can someone who never served a day
So pompously spit lies and slurs at speed?
A man with feet of mud, not even clay

How could a monkey pay the slightest heed?
Much less pay thousands just to have the chance
To eat lousy meal and hear a screed

He'll cop a plea if given half a chance
He'll do the dirty deed but not the time
He makes no music but still wants to dance

He'll leak a secret name to drop a dime
His lips could suck the white from off the rice
His jutting jaws can jabber any slime

He never met another's sacrifice
That he could not turn to his own device.

Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright 2006-2010