thank you, Lew Welch.
in case I could not see it, you pointed it out
painted it on a wide canvas
sang it as a hymn and an anthem
it is not the world, pitiless as that is
it is what we build on it, from it
but mainly from what's in us
that scrapes at the souls of men
wears down their spines
cuts off their feet
and leaves them dragging their knees
across the pavement
the pavement they put there
allegedly to ease the wear on feet
it is men who build the strange temples called factories
and men who close them
to taunt other men with memories of jobs
it is men who taint the seas
with effluence even the ocean cannot cleanse
it is men who build great granaries
in plain sight of other starving men
it is men...
but my readers and my listeners know
even if they choose to ignore it
or dismiss it as something others do
the world provides its own backdrop of horrors
cancer, plague, the wasting diseases
but it is men who make those look puny
who daily visit tortures on prisoners and loved ones
who flay each other slowly day by day
no wonder you withdrew to inhumanism
turning your back on all we praise as great about ourselves
on all that may be great
but sometimes seems like frills and ruffles
hung on a rotting dress
sometimes seems like fringe on the cape and hood
flung over the head and shoulders of
the crueler cousin of death
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