What does this tell you about the great and noble "W" and his crusade to remake the world? From AP via Yahoo:

"The more ominous and determined his words, the more skeptical the American public
appears, polls show, both on the war itself and over whether it is part of the
larger fight against terrorism, as the administration insists."

I have written a new poem:

The enemy of mankind


How does Karpinski sleep at night?
Listening for the soothing sounds of cricket and gentle breeze
But hearing the wet, heavy sounds of leather straps bursting skin
Followed by the rolling, screaming voices

Taguba toils in the day as he does his duty

In the house of man, designed and built by our forefathers-
Bush kneels in supplication to his god
Closing his eyes and ears to all other voices
Listening to the inner voice that no one else can hear

Glittering stars of rank upon crisply lined olive colored uniforms
Festooned with badges and ribbons of expertise, marksmanship and honor
Bureaucrats of the military kind who were given the ultimate choice
Forgetting their allegiance is to no man but to our ideals

In the morning light, Fay shudders at his next assignment: Abu Ghraib

How comfortable can you and I sleep
As Mr. Bush espouses and condones torture to any and all in the world
Who would oppose him and his shadowed masters
While utilizing the snake oiled words of a Goebbels

Far down in the dungeons built shiny and new by Halliburton
Where our good boys and good girls are unleashed on the enemy
With the ageless tools of the trade
Long worn well by the masked inquisitor or grinning sadist
Where there is no day or night
Children become adults without ever knowing the passage of seasons
In a world of 6 feet by 10 feet and a steel commode
Still living but brutalized and remembering their ghosts

Mr. Bush sleeps the sleep of the heavily sedated
His flabby hands encrusted with those rusted barbs and hooks of the inquisitor
His flesh broiled to a germ free redness under the tanning bed set to “high”
As those who he commands toils to extol his sins as virtues

Faraway and long ago
In a shining distance now vastly remote
Only tears remain that can never wash away our failure


This blackness will stain our hearts and anguish our souls
For the disappeared and for those unremembered souls
Locked away in the gulag paradise of Bush’s creation
The world will remember our fall long after our flesh withers away