November 27th, 1965
Looking down, I see feet moving calmly, gaily,
almost as if separated from their bodies
But there is someting moving in the dark just beyond
the edge of our eyes
A boat covered with machine guns moving downstream at night
No one can reach it—it is like the shadows
when the Puritans went out at dusk to kill turkeys
America explodes
On the ground, ragged metal riddles the underbrush
We do not respect ourselves!
It is a ceremony of self-abasement,
Like a man in the Assyrian desert
Pouring ashes over his head …
We make war
Like a man anointing himself…
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