Concentrated
I find that modern concentration camps
are now hygienically focused,
fully concentrated upon themselves.
There, every glass wall is a two-way mirror
for the neatly dressed minds of swamp dwellers,
thay who slave away
weaving truth and lies together.
Nevertheless, germaphobia feels dirty all the same.
The eye in the pyramid has gone blind.
Under Benjamine Franklin’s bed
the minted scrimshaw of crisp 100-dollar bills
is chewed down to a dry-mouthed pulp.
Upon the hilly fields of Gettysburg
blood has grown a greener grass,
and yet,
on moonless nights
armies still madly charge at each other.
Call back the horses!
Let the dead fight on.
if you find yourself within those wall-less places
think of the road-kills, whole families of them,
and all they have to wear now
are flea-ridden striped pajamas.
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