There are those who want to smash and run into
the vast morass of jungle, seek to decimate
the enemy, kick evil ass, wreak noble
vengeance, demonstrate through strength
that all the breadth and length of woe can be
eliminated through a moral show enforced with
muscle. There are those who can’t see that and won’t
do that and don’t. Their voices rustle like soft breezes
off pellucid seas. They have no answer for iniquity.
We bet you think this poem wants to know which
half of the dichotomy you think you ought to be.
I asked it that; the poem didn’t want to know
a thing. All it wanted was a song to sing
and it sang this. We’re sorry that it has
no moral, mission, recipe for bliss,
or even a remote suggestion
which direction you should
go. It isn’t sorry, though.
.
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