Friday, January 9, 2009

To George W.

The River Styx bled itself dry
As we swam in the trees
And dined in the snow.
Making lies fit our lives
We watched under God
Soldiers mowing through mountains
In green pools of blood.
We saw mothers and fathers marching their young, as
Children with zinnias held over their hearts
Sang choruses of thunder
Into galaxies unheard...

Jesse Wolfe

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