(with apologies to T. S. Eliot)
ANOTHER WASTELAND (July 13) —
II
Eyes can not believe, can not conceive
The depths of degradation
That do appear
Their darkened skies,
Gloom-laden, broken spear
Their statues falling
An evil past appalling
Frivolous wind blown
More precious, forsaken
Ancestral voices calling.
His people share his fear
Incoming incarnation
Of a nation near
Unrecognized, disguised
Long tie, false hair, crossed arms
Crotch protected
Fending off castration
Ever unrested
The final fleeting meeting
Of a fallen nation.
Tomorrow: Part III
Thursday: Part IV
Friday: Part the Last