My Family’s country was overthrown in 53.
That’s 63 years ago, but still less than a century.
It seems the flow will eventually see a penitentiary,
to punish he who publicly publishes the war machine.

palaceofrhymes.com with a daily briefing,
for the first rate soldier, private Bradley Manning.
Bomb the Suburbs like Upski
to word nerds of poetry.
Bonding what occurred on the curb,
selling verbal herbs for Kurdish sovereignty.

Learning Farsi,
“Farmedie, medune, che kar me co ne,”
You and I verse testimony,
of the true beauty,
to beautifying the truth’s ability.

Well, the poetry we brought has some physics.
Bought a scientist some chronic
who taught us to the program electronics.
After college, graduate school was Islamic.

In the elementary we studied history of policy in politics,
till the financial crisis and war of economics.
Forced my will to write skillful sonnets.
Terrific as Texas bluebonnets,
and as scary as military mercenaries.

The bubonic plaque of our time,
is now the deterioration of the mind.
Kind of scary, so read the literary, journal,
have one of your own at home.

In the furnace of pain and pleasure,
of being alone, there is no greater known measure
named to claim this thrown.