Send me dead flowers by the us mail

At a bookstore this weekend I pulled a book of poetry, Farewell to the Starlight in Whiskey, off the shelf based on the title, opened the book to the first poem posted below and immediately bought the book.

Three poems by Barton Sutter:

The President's Prayer

Our Father who art in Washington
However hollow Thy fame,
Thy kingdom come,
Our will be one
At home as in foreign nations.
Give us this day our deficit,
And forgive us our bombing passes
As we bomb those who might surpass us.
Lead us not into conservation,
But deliver us from free will.
For ours is the thralldom,
The war, and the gory.
No matter, whatever,
Your man.

Dick Cheney's Heart

Where is Dick Cheney's heart?
Does it bulge like a bubo
Under his arm?
Does it hang like a goiter
Below his groin?
Where is Dick Cheney's heart?
Polls reveal that most of the nation
Desperately want to know the location
Of Dick Cheney's missing heart.
Is it hiding out
With JFK's brain?
Did the CIA
Leave it out in the rain?
Where is Dick Cheney's heart?
Is it floating somewhere
In a large vat of oil?
Is it kept on ice,
Thought it's already spoiled
Like something moldy
You'd find wrapped in foil?
Where is Dick Cheney's heart?
We're worried about
Our vice president.
He had a bad heart,
But who knew where it went?
Is it hunkered down
In the cave of his colon?
Has it gone underground
With Osama bin Laden?
Where is Dick Cheney's heart?
Dozens of questions
Clamor for answers,
But this one would do for a start:
Where is Dick Cheney's heart.

The Neocon Con

Although they'd mostly missed their war,
The neocons had more plans in store.

The cocky thoughts of William Kristol
Called for rosary and missal.

Woolsey said get ready for
Nothing less than World War IV.

Defense investors round the world
Bought the words of Richard Perle.

Profundities of Wolfowitz
Ensured that kids were blown to bits.

All these men could count on Cheney
For intelligence chicanery.

How many American soldiers died
Defending Donald Rumsfelds pride?

Let the widows mail their funeral wreaths
And folded flags to Dougles Feith.

Selected president, their moron
Brayed this motto: 'Bring 'em on.'

We may forget dead soldiers names
But not the neocon con game.