[You are not as handsome as your mother]
You are not as handsome as your mother
Led you to believe. We are led to our
Beliefs like cows being corralled toward
A bolt gun, never knowing going under:
Head bowed, heart crossed. We kneel &
Pray. Don’t go down easy, New American.
Don’t know how. You have only dust &
The butcher’s respect to show for beliefs
Someone must understand—but not you.
Some secrets are not for us to understand,
The good book tells us, as it accepts us in
The way only a good book can. I write you
From the great plains of apathy—where
Everybody yawns—to warn you to get your-
Self prayed up & fight until you’re forcemeat.