Better Authentic Mammon Than A Bogus God.

And I Envy The Intransigence Of My Own Countrymen Who Shoot To Kill And Never See The Victim's Face Become Their Own Or Find His Motive Sabotage Their Motives.

The Sunlight On The Garden Hardens And Grows Cold, We Cannot Cage The Minute Within Its Nets Of Gold

There Seeps From Heavily Jowled Or Hawk-like Foreign Faces The Guttural Sorrow Of The Refugees.

A Fortress Against Ideas And Against The Shuddering Insidious Shock Of The Theory-vendors The Little Sardine Men Crammed In A Monster Toy Who Tilt Their Aggregate Beast Against Our Crumbling Troy.

None Of Our Hearts Are Pure, We Always Have Mixed Motives. Are Self Deceivers, But The Worst Of All Deceits Is To Murmur 'lord, I Am Not Worthy' And, Lying Easy, Turn Your Face To The Wall.