This Is Not a Holy Place, Part Two

Part 2. Into the wasteland he flies To bury the souls of lies, Beneath the leaves of time, Dirty deeds must dirty die. This then the watchman must do: Step on the fingers that try, With downward pulls to pry, Into doom flower faces, These flowers must not die. -- The conquistador arrived. He gazed at the unscathed bounty standing Respect-less before him and squinted. Surveying the laughing land, He made up his mind with astute rat-like grace And thrust with self-satisfied lust his mighty sword into the sand. God’s word thus bespoken he listened, breathlessly. The jungle though could not understand Tectetan, tectetan, tectetan Nor chose to hear or fear This little man, Oh thou little man, thou little man What is your plan, Little man? The jungle laughed, unbothered Unmoved it ignored Untouched it continued Unfettered it roared With sparkling green verdant song to sing, It sang. The conquistador fumed Scarlet red Vino roja bottled fumes Of smoky rage Stomping he retorted Thou art doomed Veni Vidi Vici he screamed Satisfied, mesmerized With scroll in hand he did announce All that is yours is mine It says so in this paper The King has made it divine Mine Mine and only Mine Did he but announce Without a golden ounce Of irony’s feathered face Whose trace, With obsidian plans to erase Surely soon he would get to know. Breathlessly he stood once again, the conquistador did Assuming The noise, ploys and feathery joys Of the jungle toys he heard Marked abdications hour At work already At hand To make this land His. Impatient Making up his mind Marching straightforwardly Towards the eye of the jungle Sacking with gaze the mighty maze Of spider green vines hiding before him The craze of ores whose mint would course the earth Soon to raise his rank to that of Jerusalem’s teutonic bearded men He was surprised when he saw Three sets of steely indian eyes Peering through the jungle wall And the flying hatchet hit him hard and true And for all we knew he never came back again “Ecab cotoch”