The protoplasmic gun belt
\nhangs low on the hips of the world.
\nShooting speed into cows
\nis the latest rap. Now they are lowing
\nthe brain damaged mice to sleep
\nin their electronic cabanas.
\nA schizoid monkey presses
\nthe wrong button and rockets go off.
\nIt’s independence day at the O.K. Corral.
\nA host of wired-up babies
\nare screaming at checkerboards.
\nThere is the cellophane mother,
\ndoing her surrogate chores,
\nand the men who dance with rays,
\npale and dark-eyed, like ghosts
\nof the future, abandoned
\nto heartless plans. The glint
\nof the badge will not blind the eye
\nof justice. Or so goes the song
\nof sorrow which ricochets at want
\nabout the globe.<\/p>\n
(from "Dead Box")<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"