White House -Slaughterhouse Poem by Kevin Patrick

Oval walls are stinking red with garlands of Viscera
Limbs and Torsos litter halls like an Ed Gein Sculpture
In the press room the cattle are culled with bolt pistols
Steel stakes driving hard through thick skulls of reporters
Their mouths spilled half empty with exhausted questions

Somewhere protesters claw their ways through black cages
Their slack jaws are sowed tight with whispers for freedom
Futility flailing against the hacksaws of a fascists
Maiming, chocking throttling, the undesired masses
He tans himself in their blood and says that he's clean


Next, he slices healthcare into infinitesimal pieces
Lines education and the courts on a cutting board rack
Then makes mincemeat out of social security
He fuels the grinder with nice little toy soldiers
Neatly arranged into plump little sausages



Waving a chainsaw with executive impunity
He scalps civil rights and flays rule of law on T.V.
Drives butchers' hooks into the forefather's spines
chows down on minorities on the taxpayer's dime
Spews fat lye on his bib and says "America is mine"


On Pennsylvania avenue there is an abattoir
It has ten talon columns of a bloody raptor
Inside there is a butcher who likes to grope his cleaver
Bulging with a fetish with donner party fever
Filling up his cabinet with skeletons and deceivers


It massacres the masses
And Gorges on the poor
Feeds scraps to working classes
down a narrow corridor
It conditions respect
To the law of the land
But then has you Pecked
Like a good little lamb
Makes soldiers from children
Then turns them to lam chops

Its not a house for the free
It's a house for the damned
its where you find victims
of old uncle Sam

It's a white house slaughterhouse