Old McDonald Had A Poetry Farm

Ah, they say the blood was flowing roses,
rub your noses, thorns of sugar,
mustache full of boogers,

Frank for the Nazis to spank,
Emily’s ghost passing right through God’s ghost,
the chariots in a monologue of oops,

Richard shot and John suffocated,
Christmas lights defecated,
Miss America inebriated,

no matter how you look at it,
Dorian Gray mirrors look back at you,
not every bitch and bastard’s a poet,

you’d think the greatest country in the world
could provide some kind of protection
but the boys bought the farm

and this includes barn, tractor,
cows, pigs, taxes,
mending fences and chicken shit.