His noble boots Like those of Hitler, Stalin, and Changiz Khan Well-polished as a black mirror trying to imitate the sun, Though dead hollow And terribly cold. His noble boots Do reign the rivers, forests, birds, and every fairy tale you have ever read, His noble boots do reign every land like a caged breath in the morning's lung Oh, yes! His noble boots Will not be marching alone in our emptied streets after the third tragedy, With gray melancholies like thin threads of spider webs That's what I fear Four more wars! With troops of adrenalin soldiers Wound-up to kill who? Your enemy or his?
I've even heard God talk to his noble boots Commanding them to crush the earth Like a simple bag of brittle bones As I hold this naive world Like a dying child In my sad arms.