Gunz Yo

by Sage Francis

The Lime

Sombreros of summer
hide the industrially refined
corners of my lips
and nose.
The four borders of the western world
crumble like cornbread
on the president's plate.
I lift my chin in response to
society's sin, within our global economy
caught in self-abuse
without any thought of form
on the pixilated screen in front of me.
Bad diction and rhetoric mixes with the stale
commentary. And the aftertaste is similar to spit.
But now
my spit tastes like Corona,
and the lime is my pacifier.