THUS SPOKE SPOOKY

And it’s true that some thought

He wrought to wear a human face

And actually seemed

Most decent with his military insignias on.

He speaks with that sort of passion and depth,

It seems, that gives reasoned reasons

For his reasons.

Technically speaking, how his words go down

Is of little consequence to those around

For they’re made palatable

By the very concavity of his idiom.

His inner thoughts,

And I am only privy to them

Through his rather large sun glasses

From beneath of which he probably glances

At the little folks in the hustle and bustle of their lives

Underneath the purview of his glasses,

His inner thoughts, Oh… never mind, never mind.

Here is no common man;

His mission, it turns out,

Transcends all women and men

And the little children

In whose eyes the streams run

And the birds dream of Spring

In the dead of wintertime.

For the record, his voice declares:

“Men and women of the East

Mark my words; your destinies

Rest in my hands

I am your baker, dough, salt and yeast.

A true vision I hold

You know not where I dream to take you

Nor do you need to know

I myself know not the nitty-gritty of

Where we’ll go;

I only know I’m not God Almighty

But God Almighty anointed me

And appointed me to deliver you

From the destinies

You’ve plotted against yourselves

With your own hands …

And that indelibly wrong ink

On your forefinger with which you thought

You’d rewrite the preamble of your script!

For the sake of these tender hands,

I hereby un-ink the ink

And forgive you your wrongdoing.”