hagen von tundra a faustian soul tells the story settlers settled straight the border cut through grass swamp plain abound the tide turn west blinding glare a heap of red corpses and this is where the credits set in boils the blood ash pale drawn revolvers and repeating rifles firing down a desolate range the biosphere redeemed for noble treks passing through icy winds at early dawn's light remember the castle besieged on all fronts the wagon tents flapping with disgust at invaders' nonchalance the savage beasts kapow! kapow! goes down one feathered fellow barely limping like a weakling in a worn and stolen saddle presents then! and where now? too wild the bears too tame the women setting tables preparing the hearth the men out there planting and digging their own graves not yet generations to come gazing inward reflecting their refinement and ahead the scape stretching skyward do you smell the firewatered palms upturned begging for scraps? in the middle of a passionate heartland roaming roving red-boiled rage to kill the reds to scourge the country of its plague and line by line designed a complex grid of lanes and trains to modernize to civilize an ancient land of evil intent through the mercy of god washed clean and shine a thousand scrapers in the sky and never listen to the dead half-beast's cry

September 17, 2003