'Bombs in the Basement' -- a new TCBH! poem by resident poet GARY LINDORFF

Today my toast looks like Christ, 

like planet earth, 

like Venus

like me in a dinosaur-proof suit,

bristling with spikes

that I invented when I was afraid to fall asleep. 

But I don’t have time for visions. Christ, 

I don’t have time for anything! 

Bombs in the basement. That’s for the NSA. 

A toast to the NSA! 

(Lift up your cups, your mugs, comrades!.)

The NSA keeps us mad.

Mad as a Hatter. 

Without madness I just start 

thinking about whether I flossed last night. 

I can’t tell you what I’m really thinking. 

But it’s whispering. 

(I tell spirit in the stone-people’s lodge, I 

sweat out truths that are so far beyond 

anything I can put to words...

For the rest of this poem by GARY LINDORFF, resident poet at ThisCantBeHappening!, the new uncompromising four-time Project Censored Award-winning online alternative newspaper, please go to: www.thiscantbehappening.net/node/2044