Night fell typically on the Beltway, writing a
telos to myrmidon
angst. God’s driver—fresh from
a convocation petitioning
guidance- eased to
rest astride self-anointed hatists-ala-mode
who’d recently splattered superfluous
scarlet along the
DC fall. Unfettered by dhimmitude &
Chief Moose, Ron Lantz made the
call—all in a day’s
work. Enron deadwood wowed the
Programmer, selling-out their initial sell-out as
Mr. Lantz— humble as a
lamb- retired to
Sunday duty, leaving lesser lights- so
departmental- all
the vainglory one nation—let us pray-can bear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem