An older version of this poem appears in my 1st chapbook, Bloggerel.  Here’s my “final answer” to the question of whether to revise it.  I read this final version at the Come Together: Imagine Peace benefit in Cleveland on Friday night.  Video of that reading will be coming as soon as I can get to it.


Indian summer sun squints, bloodshot like the
Wide wounded eyes of my cynical Seneca ancestors.
On and on

    and anon,

An endless queue of unrelenting conquistadors,
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


    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,


    priests and presidents,

Electable eels who feel their forked tongues

    and dung

Make them agents of distinction

    instead of

Sweetly sighing lullabies of liberty

    and expediency, 

These leaders open

Their bomb bays 

    as they 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





    Bethlehem and

Coming soon

    to a theatre

    of war