Sunday, November 7, 2010

One Every 24 #48

A Means to an End

An endless suburb of concentration camps

Eviscerating ghost limb souls thrown to

The snap-jawed dog meat slaves crouched beneath

An electric chair assembly line powering more than

Enough atom bombs to vaporize the baby flesh from

The painted geisha faces of our misapprehension.

By this I mean I am here in my yard frozen

Over the bowl of sunflower seeds I'm setting out

For a squirrel who's somehow lost a leg while I see

Our screed of rationales drool from a severed head held

Aloft by the hair. When this film slaps free of its reel

An idea, picked vulture clean, remains: too much

Of what we’ve wrought begins with our wanting

Some living thing dead because someone believes

A given end justifies any means.