Archive
06/27/10 - (1)
Clinton, Bush, Edwards, Gore, et Al.
I've seen some of the finest men of my generation (Not much more than spoiled little boys, really) Dive from the ivoried heights of their towering tongue tips (Boys with man-sized voices of hubristic braggadocio), Die in a pile of bloody flesh and twisted bones, Buried in a vast, disquietingly silent Babelized necropolis, Each under a star-crossed obelisk of infamy.
Why this seems to happen with such solemnized regularity May have everything to do with their choice of vocation, Their pernicious preference for pursuing politics, As if that vocation holds, solely, the highest promise For self-aggrandizement, control, ultimate power — Attributes boys and men find most exciting, enthralling, That thrill of grasping the fasces, with Machiavellian fervor.
Then again, maybe the male mutation of Homo sapiens, In a generalized sweep of truth, Is missing certain crucial features of the human genome Which keep it, him, them from speaking virtuously, Seeing that sensitivity isn't exclusively a feminine trait, And extending a genuine word to his fellow man — A pol visibled under Diogenes' lantern.
06/27/10 - (1)
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