That bruised question of finite measures.
Every hammered crown
Is removed some way.
Scepters with their strange rotations
Hold no true sway over the inner natures
Of manatee, mechanics
Or magma with her radial flow.
Inspired robes unravel every hour
For gifted maggots and their maws
Who roll in the smoky valleys
Once our fathers' holy mountains.
The Asia you know is murder
American democracy is far safer
For two-legged mosquitoes.
There, competition rarely ends in graves
For anyone but foreigners,
Distant and near.