NETHERLAND
My Humvee chart will lance your boil, spoil your
factor, edge your greensward junk of lawn all in
a heap. These are the formulas of the world's new
equation : we'll have nothing to show and little to
bring. Man has climbed and charted the moon,
staggered its figures on blackboard and screen,
and left all those open-lipped children at home.
The dark figure on the glossy page says 'this is
not the time to rage.' It holds its patterned hand
out seeking money or change and gets nothing in
return. The Pope they say is in Jerusalem, or
somewhere just as stupid : I have no proof,
nothing to tell by, just the nattering flatulence of
insipid reporters going on about things they know
little of. Living in the dark like this, none of it
really matters. The basketball-monk president,
in his turn, flies home to Afghanistan to find a
friendly audience. What else can there be? His
minions the soldiers, whom he (after all) feeds
and pays, applaud but the new slavemaster never
stays; he'll be home before you know it, and
I'll be back underground again. There's a
darkness roiling the nation.
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