And that your principles cohere
Beat all about you, grown and child,
Until your brave new world appear.
Make no bones.
Perhaps your donnée’s so profond
That even French penseurs are glazed,
No matter, praxis remakes fact
And whole societies are razed.
Make no bones.
And not a stone is left unturned:
That one percent minorities –
Men in ballgowns! – should glide on top
All must attend reformatories.
Make no bones.
But there’s a caravanserai
Lumbering through the city square
With black-print book and desert cries
Will throttle all the thinkers there.
Make no bones.
====================
© December 2015
