I’m an organizer
and there’s nothing I like better
than organizing;
so start marching,
you’re recruits
in an Army —
an Army of Mine.

We’ll organize the beggars
to dance in the streets
the tin cup of pennies
to keep the beat.
We’ll teach the housewives
to keep everything neat
and arm paramilitary
to turn up the heat.
Shake, Rattle, Battle,
nothing better than a fight
to keep what’s mine
and make everything right.
Like a good fighter
I leave nothing to chance
poke you in the eye
kick you in the pants;
I control the reports
what is said
you probably believe
what you just read —
and that’s a tribute to
ORGANIZATION

Weapons only represent
orders you must follow

NOW
Tighten your belts
tighter
tighter
tighter.

p.s.
Let’s clean machetes, gas cans, hammers
in Rwanda,
in Baghdad,
in Tibet,
in beautiful and historic Myanmar.

Now that we’ve brushed our teeth
let’s kick them in.

Let’s play dressup
we will look swell
trying to
march in step.
We will organize regiments
of indestructible killers
to convince everyone
we mean business.
We will get a loan
to buy guns, bombs, and instruments of torture
do what we want
and never explain.
Everyone pull
their belts tighter
tighter
tighter.

Look! On the horizon!
The red flags of war!
Sorry — my mistake —
it’s only the sun rising —
not as stirring a sight
as clean cut youth
in clean cut uniforms
marching to slaughter.
No, the sun
only thinks it looks
like puddles of blood
reflected
in puddles of
unimaginative water.