Saddam's boys, fed lion's hearts And bad philosophy, were sent into the rape room Under P.S. 106, Baghdad, Same ground that saw a Ninevah arise Same wide-eyed folks that made A few of civilization's unending things, Set golden bird upon a ruby bough to sing. "Not in my name" shall we set, we The people of Hamilton and Adams Not for such names, nor for our own, Forgotten since our civics' texts Have gone to rot as assuredly as Rome's poems Burned by Visigoths to watch "Vandal Idols" on a commandeered TV in the fumbled coliseum. "Not in my name" shall these be set free. Not by us, the people of Lincoln and Paine, Not with our bullets of inalienable rights, Nor our hatred of tyrants, Not by our strength, our success, Not by our sure hand in a selfish world, Not by our open palm shall these be set free. These same who crouched in a shit pit Or were shot for sheer sport. Power plus a few roaring lies And arabist France is your firm friend, Scoring oil off of marsh arabs' misery, Breathing grievance and flattering tyrants alone in their ego-lovely palaces of misapplied plaster, walls caulked with exquisite fear, real memories of friends, father or sister suddenly dragged out at 1 AM and shoved into the State's Mercedes and returned in ribbons, eyeless, legless, earless, hymenless, or not at allÖ. The fear of faces too used to fear, Same faces Stalin made in Russian clay Holding his neighbors' feet to the fire Or cinching raw hands in unforgiving wire. "Not in my name" shall these be made free. Same Saddam, god-damn, Who put a hit out on a retired president And called Kuwait his "13th Province," Shattering desert quietude with lies, Living detached as a NYT op-ed writer From the eternal verities. Same Saddam, god-damn, Who paid suicide bombers' families to live on quince And retire to palm-shaded villas After sending Sonny on to see Allah; Same suiciders who put a two-fer hole In New York's presumptuous skyline: Front teeth fell out square with 3,000 lives As jerks in Jersey City cheered And Palestinians rah-rahed in parade, Making Gaza glamorous once again, full of light, full of hope, full of song, As know-nothing Americans knew, just knew It was all our fault anyway; Not even giving gashed Jihadis credit for their kill, not really. Same Saddam, god-damn, Ö. I can't go on without respite, without tonic, A cool cloth for my lips, hot cotton Laid on my ears, much abused, Carbon darkness for my eyes, my eyes That see in seemless verity One nation, under God, Riddled with raconteurs of the Apocalypse Who never missed a payment on their Saab. Allah, Allah, Allah, Forgive these few, these free, These blind men holding diamonds Who think they're weighted with bricks; Forgive these few their compassionate disaster Who see sorrow in a tyrant's swat, How sad his up-bringing must have been; Forgive these few their huddled asses Who buy the pap and propaganda of the feckless press. Allah, Allah, Allah, Sear me with second-sight enough to see What comes of free people with no will to be free; Who shrinky-dink and containerize the globe After pacifying panzered fascists, Who set the Technicolor sights of Hollywood in every human eye And take air-conditioned flights To the winds' four corners And hear half-good English spoken there From some kid wearing Adidas And yet do not believe Fallujah's on their subway stop or Kabul is come to Washington. Forgive these few, O Allah. Allah, Allah, Allah, Walla walla walla Washington
Dim NIMN
[Poetry], Black Champagne
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Sep 142011