our muskets have rusted, bayonnets ditto and dulled;
our fortresses are held in phonemes of distinct languages;
forming a moat, needing, of course, a drawbridge for citizenship.

alas we see the distant sandstorm and its onery darkness as it
blankets a sheet of dark on all thriving creatures on Earth;
nature shrugs her shoulders, winces-as if she truly cares.

what kind of future will purge the levee from a swarm of humans;
natural death can only do so much, nuclear war can cover most;
but for those who just can't wait on natural death, there are guns.

a long life is not in this deal; Jesus deals the next hand!
i'd fold. but not get on the road to Sumaria, i hear a lot
of good things about that but mostly bad things befall you.

10/11/2011

Posted on 10/11/2011
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