Full-voiced, thunderous
the voice of truth whispers

There was never nothing
Never, death in Raine's morgue

granted beauty
en terra firma--

Never, soldiers sprawled
like Fenton's bottles--

You object?
Yes, of course.

But still you drank the blood
while the dead soldiers piled up
surrounding your feet.

Never, the steadily advancing rhythm
of hands meeting, unintentionally
speeding up while their voices
intone faster and faster:

Miss Susie had a steamboat,
the steamboat had a bell.
Miss Susie went to heaven,
the steamboat went to -

He'll be fine they said
or at least well-read

And who knows?
Maybe he'll learn to bestow
aesthetics to evil.

Before guns wore make-up,
We used to put pennies in our socks
So we’d always walk on the root of all evil.

Now Wall Street angels frolic through satellite clouds borrowed
from youths educated by universities of smoke and plastic bags.
                  
(The tears of a child are homage to the waning gods)
For in a day not far away,
Over the painted moon of the Morning Son,
The sun will rise wearing the finest war scars money can buy.

And the screams of humanity will be heard from Venus,
Forgetting that the reciprocal of   L-I-V-E   itself  is     E-V-I-L
And perhaps death is the life meant to be lived.