Throat-Slitting Cash
the lap ring troop leader is
too-aged for rod-polishing now
he's thrice-sold the old
nickel gray back-spiker
to a trencherman philosopher
a steel merchant of the topmast shuttle shell
who first saw the sewer crow tread cradle steps in '88
- another animus injuriandi
for the witch that totes a broom
with an opium smoker's pistol grip;
all pseudo impartiality sliced away
like fashion scissors through braid wool bonnets
discarded in Russo-Turkish snow.