THE MARKSMAN
CALLS IT DEVIL
(Mephistopholes Dragging)
The somber two-lipped wandering man, the
card-player with his extra hands, the chiseler with
his chisel, any one of those things - taken alone -
would bring me back to times and places now
better left unmentioned. The purloined whiff
of bodies, dead and staggered, blind.
-
Where teeth are shattered and shoulders are
torn, there this man of action tries to dwell :
thinking that, by dint of Man's exertion,
the plight of Humanity will be lifted.
Never do I know. For to me it seems
they simply plunge instead, mere drudges,
insipid walkers, social tourists, 'midst their
yapping tongues and useless words.
-
These are the men who build traps;
sitting two-deep at the carousel counter.
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