Again, we're at war.
what's the score?
Have we tallied the dead
before killing some more?
Men of the cloth place blessing bandages on social shotgun wounds
We draw real blood in battle
Can't we do better?
It's been called a jungle out there?
A jungle is ancient, organic and disorderly
Finishing school in the jungle is eat
not be eaten.
Eventually, we all get sucked into nature's wood chipper.
I write poetry desperate but in vain
trying not to be consumed by the truth of it.. Sucked down
the hungry gullet of nature.
An irreplacable asset to big money mavens
fearing the jaws of the vortex.
I made plans to be a lawyer, maybe move on to politics
to personally shield myself from the avalanche of the vortex
I finally realized I'd be paying Peter to Rob Paul
So Peter could pay his devil's advocate.
What a grand bargain.
Perhaps, with this strategy,
I could snare a trophy wife,
who'd bore me scrubbed, rosy cheeked, children.
Cannon fodder for some greater treachery.
putting on hold
the inevitable ocean of grief, rivers of blood,
huge parcels of sorrow. .
medication with auto- refill to assuage
my ancestors guilt.
Guilt for grandfathering in bloody,
ungenerous, jack boot
laws good at killing.
Laws of Attrition
laws keeping you out.
Laws laid down in a foreign tongue.
Where white is right
and money is might.
Buddy Bee Anthony
All EdIting and Publishing Rights Reserved As Is By This Author