....................

....2.....

Beneath the feet of Caesar....

The tears of lovers lost to poet gardeners....

Is it sixteen generations that have placed us here....

Where  America  finds her legends and then kills them....

As if a horror flick is somewhere between the real and the unknown....

Do I dare say I don’t care....

I have tasted the blood thick in my head....

From punch to punch....

I have laid before the arbitrator waiting for the assessments:....

Is it a tooth dead....

Or do we rebuild with resin and filters....

These are the thoughts of the modern....

I could kill a judge of corruption....

Wallowing in cash and endorsements....

And no countryman would seem to care....

But If I took that sales agent out for a ride ....

In the desert air....

If I took that creep of all creeps ....

That poet-loyalist....

And brushed his teeth....

Full and un-giving like a split-up candidate....

I would be blanked and throttled....

Shut out from all ....

Never to teach again....

.. ..

Senator O’Brien....