My alternative one-man conspiracy poem about WTC7's near free-fall collapse. I think Rudy did it and theory-poem why. Bring humor hat. Also, Rudy's fine work in Ukraine is noted. No word whether he caught up with Cofer Black, who quietly joined the Burisma board of directors shortly after Trump's inauguration. Then on to the icy tower. Like stations of the cross. O, it's all good fun, tongue in cheek. Bring humor. You need it

::::::::

The Fart Heard Around the World

I no longer subscribe to Conspiracy Theory magazine

my pile of them disappeared, went up in smoke

(like my pile of Playboys after Jimmy Carter's heart lustquip)

when I imagined, could see in my mind's eye

Rudy holding out his middle finger and

saying to his nephew: Pull it!

And his nephew pulled it and

Rudy faux-farted and World Trade Center 7

came down, freefallin' in its own footprints, down

the nephew held his nose up, like a little snoot

as if the whole world'd gone to sh*t on his boot

the smell of burning files obnoxious:

CIA, FBI, DoD, IRS, Secret Service, SEC, and the RICO records

set free, liberated from concentration camps of power

casualties of war in the new war on Terror

you could hear the files seethe and scream and turn code red

like democracy thrown into a pot of boiling water

thank christ for butter and bibs, dig in demos
.

And then almost 20 years later, Rudy just before

the opera In Time of Plague began, rusty arias

and language itself turned into a theory of conspirators

(all it ever was, actually)

like the hemp our forefathers rolled in that Piece of Paper, We Hold

our noses, still waiting for the smoke to clear

to see what fire was there, if any

O what intrigues have we not got up to

since the Magic Bullet theory

and all our decades of Magical Thinking since

Be the chaos. Be the Solution â„¢.

Children of Shock and Awe, followed by Halliburton

pocket marshall plans,

thrown like toilet paper rolls by Trump to bums

to wipe away our sh*t-eating grins

as no Mar-a-lago devil's cake was available
.

Almost 20 years later, Rudy in Ukraine

digging up dirt, looking for fleur de mal, a bouquet for the boss

looking to put flies across Joe Biden's eyeballs

heads on stakes, followed by steaks in mouths

Rudy says to Shokin, he says, pull my finger

and no doubt spoils went to the Viktorfor doing so

and for effect he let it linger

but gasman Cofer caught a whiff

and he was out on the theatre stage in a jiff

to chase Giuliani away, or over a cliff

away from the Burisma scratch-and-sniff

where Cofer plays homo contractus

(sure beats domo redactus)

with a small army of mercies at the Putin border
.

And last seen, Rudy was heading toward the 7 pillars

all El Aurens-like, a Peter Tool,

some say in a dishdash dishguise

some say in a Toyota Corona

(the MSM is no help in these matters)

to Jeddah specifically, to Jeddah

to the Kingdom Tower, one K high

raised, an icy middle bin Laden finger lifted from the sand

bugled out just 3 months after Abbottabad

where locals put up an amusement park

weee, as if to snark, the loopity-loop

circularity of American foreign policy

that Trump later adlibbed at Idlib

and Rudy paces in front of the Tower

saying Pull It Pull It Pull It

to dishdashing pashersby

and falcon-masked women, who won't listen to their falconers

now allowed to steer self-driving cars for photo ops

no takers of faux farts or other false reports here

and poor Rudy missing his nephew sorely

puts his finger back where it belongs, next to the thumb

and goes home, thinking he'll run for mayor of America again
.

Somewhere in America there's a well-tilled field

a loamy loam out of which mighty arms now sprout

and reach up, acres of them, with fierce fists clenched

and a flower, a single middle petal, raises like a finger from the fists

to bouquet the coming revolution

waiting to rise up, released from the wild

Quick! pull my finger, they seem to say

and watch the methane gas-filled human koan fields

spontaneously combust, leaving nothing

but the footprints of Man, on a moony surface

released forever back into the wild of eternal night

a debunker mentality in the Luger light

thrown

(Article changed on August 30, 2020 at 17:17)

(Article changed on September 2, 2020 at 19:59)

Authors Website: https://tantricdispositionmatrix.substack.com/

Authors Bio:

John Kendall Hawkins is an American ex-pat freelance journalist and poet currently residing in Oceania.