how is it that man can make sport
out of war, or war
out of sport?
either which is the way,
and we follow our course.

it is property,
it is the shifting of
earth at our feet and we sit there
and squeak at the balls
of our heroes;
they are her
zeros, her


in God is your worth, I share you your
singings, but I bear not your curse.
in metaphor, I am in god’s worth seen.

we sit around carving some characters into our
melamine cages and car-wash cuisine.
we pummel you Gaia, you sweet whore, bitch, cheek!
we lift you beneath our sweets, our roses, our sweets!

We pale and don’t shovel the whole all out,
We blush at our Selves and the Other’s left out.
I ravish my colds, my colds all out.
I polish my stones, my stones all out!

And I Me say You! come do! Me say you!


but calm, let it be,
I share with you, you glare at me;
so hold, be still,
I mean you know harm; be
still, still, no cause for alarm.