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.