Cretan Maineiac (April 29,1961 / Lewiston, ME USA)

April showers fell unseasonably cold @ VaTech,
that morning, the
dripping blood of a forfeited soul with selfish motives.

Chronically late Buddinsky laureate had stepped
in, elbowed-up to center-stage- words louder than
action- self-anointed arbiter branding him

'unfit' for class- passive lynching- his
Alienation
unfashionable, not

-Sylvia shrilly blaming *pater-nothus*, nor
-Jezebel snapping hormonal on Angry Johnny, nor
-'the thunder rolled' or 'earl hadda' die' or wispy Nova

Scotia Sarah kissing
the breath
out of all of us, *Ismail


Ax*, wrong tattoo, a self-anointed martyr fighting all
Liberty, not just
that the Founders deemed Creator-endowed, yellow

monkey out of sync w/
n-word
ethics, not


pooping a midden on Whitey from an
ebony tower, not
even eligible for the Writing Cure, due

soon enough to
graduate to
the out-side world, sealed in artistic irrelevance &

lined up along the altar of
universal injustice
somewhere amid

global gas, sexual harassment, & snoring, way out-
side Prof. Nikki's
tolerance threshold (her catalogue

celebrating many
lives, saving
none) .

Cho’s literary legacy, that frightful pop & thick odor of unfriendly-
fire, cluttering
the wishful repose of a gun-free zone,

published by the Programmer (who misread domestic
violence into
doctrinaire terrorism) - verse-

less rhyme, sense-
less crime- funded
by the blood of Thirty-two Souls, plus one.