THE GOON IS WALKING

The Goon is Walking.
Hearum? Listen. Stick your ear
Into the dirt and listen. Hear?
Feel those heavy tremors?
That's the Goon walking.
Walking with ponderous feet. Walking with awkward feet.
Walking with dull and flopping feet.
Crashing.
Thudding.
With drooling mouth. With bloodshot, staring eyes.
With the four fierce horsewomen in his wake.

The Goon is Walking.
Nearer yet he comes.
Cant'cha hearum? Hearum stomping closer? See his idiot's grin?
Watch! Look! (and think) See his jerking arms?
See his hands clenching and unclenching? Look atum!
Lookenlaugh!

Now's the time. Be proud! Show off! Swell out your chests!
Brag now!
Tell the cows! Tell the dogs! Tell the sheep! Tell the cats!
They'll look at you with awe.
Point to Him and brag your usual brag!
He is yours. You gave him birth.
You nursed him with your breast milk--at your paps.

Pride!
Sure, proud as hell!
Bursting buttons!
Upper plates exposed!

MEANWHILE:

The Goon is Walking.
Over mountains: crushing them to dust.
Over valleys: filling, leveling.
Now all are the same:
No windy pinnacle. No deep, green depth. No beauty.
Only desert.
The Goon is Walking.
Over trees: no more shade.
Over cities: no more Empire State; no more Eiffell Tower.
No more nothing.

And ranging far and wide, behind him ride his proteges.
The Four Stooges: War Famine Petrolence Death
Anything he leaves they cover.
Desert-makers. Damn good ones, too--
But how can good as the Goon.

Stumble, stumble. Rumble, rumble.
Jumble, jumble. Mumble, mumble.
Feces dropping. String spittle dripping.
Brainless, senseless hulk.
Not hate.
Not even fear.
Not any thing.
Just nothing.

THE GOON IS WALKING

The Goon is Walking.
Hearum? Listen. Stick your ear
Into the dirt and listen. Hear?
Feel those heavy tremors?
That's the Goon walking.
Walking with priderous feet. Walking with awkward feet.
Walking with dull and flopping feet.
Crashing.
Thudding.
With drooling mouth. With bloodshot, staring eyes.
With the four fierce horsemen in his wake.

The Goon is Walking.
Near, yet he comes.
Cant'cha hearum? Hearum stomping closer? See his idiot's grin?
Watch! Look! (And think) See his jerking arms?
See his hands clenching and unclenching? Look atum!
Lookenlaugh!

Now's the time. Be proud! Show off! Swell out your chests!
Brag now!
Tell the cows! Tell the dogs! Tell the sheep! Tell the cats!
They'll look at you with awe.
Point to Him and brag your usual brag!
He is yours. You gave him birth.
You nursed him with your milk at your paps.

MEANWHILE:

The Goon is Walking.
Over mountains: crushing them to dust.
Over valleys: filling, leveling.
Now all are the same:
No windy pinnacle. No deep, green depth. No beauty.
Only desert.
The Goon is Walking.
Over trees: no more shade.
Over cities: no more Empire State; no more Eiffel Tower.
No more nothing.

And, ranging far and wide, behind him ride his proteges.
The Four Stooges: War Famine Pestilence Death
Anything he leaves they cover.
Desert-makers. Hell good ones, too--
But not as good as the Goon.

Stumble, stumble. Jumble, jumble.
Rumble, rumble. Mumble, mumble.
Feces dropping. Stringy spittle dripping.
Brainless, senseless Hulk.
Not hate.
Not even fear.
Not any thing.
Just nothing.