America, unveiled in frugal agendas
secreted in roots of regal cypress
terminal in nature, resounding.
There has died and been buried,
a man so little known,
his flock of fledglings, so rarely
returned, echoed youthful
calls and whistles across spirits
of tomorrow. Young men beating
chests of perpetual, salacious sentiments, heralding: patriotic, passionate, eternal,
pestilent, dogmatic, sick. Hopeless aptitude lost
in pits, in trenches, in arrogant proposal,
monuments of soils erected
in earnest, divided in expectation,
by a standard of worthiness.
Casting shadows like youthful sorrows upon barren grounds such are souls.
The ringing charges they powdered
in optimistic principle besiege
timeless yods of heroism
laid upon an altar for remembrance.
A Hymn of servitude now sung
there, for those crushed beneath
crops of civility. Lecherous fathers
battling the sick condition of men
harvested on Little Round Top,
down Devil’s Den,
in the Best Western
every bone in glory