Weekly Mass Murders of a Warfare State

A father’s fire engine red eyes flood
His pillow, mourning his dear daughter;
Another mother has failed for the fifteenth
Time at counting sheep as the sun comes
Up and her son’s bed is still made and the
clock, and click of double-locks is unsynced

The Commander, The Drone Ranger, doesn’t do
Tuesday shows live. He pre-records his play-
list of Golden Oldies for heavy rotation: “Our
Hearts and Prayers Go Out Waltz,” “Senseless
Violence Sonata,” “The Gun Control Conga,” etc.
He has another play-list. A list of places to see and
people to kill. A play-list of smash hits—Tarantino
Shorts, sans N-word— shot weekly in Syria, Yemen,
Afghanistan, Iraq, then pitched softly, like Jel-Low
Puddin/Dr. Huxtabullshit

Warheads, weaponized chatterers of the head-fixing
Industry, act mystified, “at a loss to figure out what
Happened,” then fire fusillades of “gunmen,” “mad
men,” crazy men,” “deranged shooters” with “rambling
manifestoes” at 99%ers risking real questions like:
What homicidal-suicidal-side effects do shooters suffer
Popping Do-Woppish Chantix, Luvox, Pristig, Prozac
Anti-depressants? Do Big Pharma dope-dealers face
What is it about capitalist exploitation, cutthroat
Competition, alienation, isolation of a Warfare State
That drives men mad?
What’s racism, sexism, classism, elitism, homophobia,
No affordable housing, No free healthcare, No free education,
Got to do with it? Do they factor into the walking-wounded—
Cubicle-casualties, snapping?
Can we set alarms, calendars? Can we play numbers? 9,12,
There, 26, 32, here—to weekly mass murder in Amerikkkan
malls, theaters, churches, classrooms, newsrooms, boardrooms?
Business as usual in NYC, time refuses to waddle
with young men whose pants hang off their butts. It
Goosesteps double-time, in Brooks Brothers suits like
Wall Street gangstas on speed…
pre-school Daily ‘News’ delights in show and tell of
How the latest shooter bothered with wig, shawl, shades,
six clips and three license plates.
When, really, blue uniform, badge, camouflage fatigues
and combat boots suffice, once killing pauses…

Figures don’t lie, but liars figure…Does gunfire kill
88 a day in the USA? Can Canadians, Aussies, Brits
French, Japanese—even Germans—wag foam fingers
and chant like “U-S-A # 1?” Can they compete in
Drugging, driving mad, jailing and killing their people?

In discussing this week’s mass murder, mention
the colonial settler project called Amerikkka’s a
Scorched earth Real Estate scam. And homicidal
Speculator/squatters like ‘Old Hickory’ made
Mortgages of massacred men, women, children,
slaughtered buffalo, deer, burned crops, cooked
books and broken treaties—original shock doctrines—
Guaranteed by guerillas in the midst of Gatling guns,
carbines, muskets…
They flipped mountains, valleys, rivers, lakes; serially
sold and resold Stolen land over and over, dead bodies,
again and again
Tore down yellow tape, compromising crime scenes,
Erased memory of mass murder she wrote, and made
Lead final offers, forceps for
birth of
a nation…

Former forklift driver/warehouse worker/janitor, Raymond Nat Turner is a NYC poet; BAR's Poet-in-Residence; and founder/co-leader of the jazz-poetry ensemble UpSurge!NYC. Read other articles by Raymond Nat, or visit Raymond Nat's website.