THE FLOWER OF CORRUPTION

A ransacked neo-classical hothouse crumbling

From fetid twisted strands of giant vines

With thorns of steely rounded points that pierce

The spattered walls and cavities of windows



The Congress has become the dwelling of

Black feral cats that shriek against he satyrs;

A vision like that which Isaiah saw

Of Babylon alone upon the desert.



Inside the cracked rotunda too ashamed

To fall least Heaven see inside, the vines

All gather blooming to a sickly flower

From out of Clinton-Bush’s single mouth.



Phlegm petals open crushing all the space

There with faces of the Wall St. trinity

Of Paulson, Geitner and Bernacke deflated

From swarms of lobbyist flies sucking their moisture.