The TV glows like a cursed motel sign Orange fog and dollar-store Frankenstein Every headline sounds like a mobster plea Wrapped in a flag and immunity The anchors whisper, “breaking news” Another lawsuit tap-dancing in loafers and rouge Another gold-plated carnival theft Another Constitution hanging by a thread And every diner, bus stop, bar, and jet Keeps asking softly: Is he dead yet? Did the earth finally cash that check? Did the golf cart stall in the sulfur sunset? Is he dead yet? Every morning coffee tastes like dread Every bedtime scroll melts brain cells dead From Berlin to Brooklyn to the internet Everybody asks: Is he dead yet? He sells steak knives made of lies and smoke Autographs Bibles he’s never once opened Talks like a casino slot machine cough With ketchup stains on the mouth of God Cabinet of gargoyles, thieves in silk Milking taxpayers like a billion-dollar cow for milk Family tree shaped like a prison chart Spray-tanned Caesar with a coupon heart And every exhausted working stiff in debt Mutters through clenched teeth: Is he dead yet? Did karma finally place the bet? Did history choke on the bullshit buffet? Is he dead yet? The planet’s holding its cigarette Waiting for the final unpaid debt Even the ghosts are chain-smoking, upset Asking each other: Is he dead yet? He waddles onstage like a cursed parade A foghorn stuffed in a human-shaped glaze Vocabulary forged in a sewer drain Ego inflated with propane “Many people say,” then the facts all drown Truth gets dragged through a clown-faced town Every scandal somehow breeds three more Like cockroaches in a revolving door And somewhere a bald eagle just drinks itself wet Croaking hoarsely: Is he dead yet? Did the universe lose its patience yet? Did the reaper file bankruptcy and quit? Is he dead yet? Every sunrise feels like a bad roulette Every midnight tweet smells like gasoline sweat The whole damned world in nervous duet Singing together: Is he dead yet? But the bastard lingers like mold in grout Too vain for silence, too loud to drown out History sharpening knives backstage Waiting to lock the final cage And when the curtain finally drops one day Fox News choirs fade away No golden throne, no private jet Just six feet down and eternal debt.
