I began this in jail, on 5 September 1992, while awaiting release on bond… and finished it today.
Indian summer sun squints, bloodshot as the
Wide wounded eyes of my cynical Seneca ancestors.
On and on and anon, an endless queue of
Lusting for booty or bust,
Defile our trust and defame the
Name of God in the name of God.
Opportunity does not knock for
Trusting tribesmen, be they from Arizona, Africa, the Amazon or Akron.
Riding roughshod over every allegedly endless empire including
America the beautifully dutiful, the cursed hearse of history leads a
Parade of pathetic and unsympathetic plotters, plodders, priests and presidents,
Electable eels who feel their forked tongues and dung make them
Agents of distinction instead of extinction.
Sweetly sighing lullabies of liberty and expediency, these leaders
Open their bomb bays and pray first for the
Unconditional surrender of their enemies and
Last, if at all, for the bloodshot souls of the soon-to-be charred children of Hiroshima and Hanoi.