Making up a mind like yours,

so different from mine that I cannot
imagine being you,

I live in words lifted from pages, not
these sigils of sounds
that whistle when I say them

in shibolet-art-chek stich uations

is art, intuitive  or drunken ravings of stron drink mocking

peace at the ultimate price ever imagined,

paid.
This is after that. Mind games that you can play
at seventy-two,

you may safely teach your children,
but they won't listen, so
you teach their children.