BY THEIR FRUITS YE SHALL KNOW THEM

SHOT AT THE DNC in Denver this week. It looked like these 9/11 Conspiracy wolves were ready to tear Michelle Malkin from limb to limb. This whole episode reminded me of the 1960s civil rights confrontations. You know, wolves will be wolves, and bullies will be bullies, no matter what the conflict...

I mean, what do people like this lead bully expect to accomplish? That Malkin would suddenly be addressed by a shaft of light, fall to her knees, tearfully repent of whatever opinions she may have held, and convert to this wolf's version of cocksure dogma? Makes for engaging TV, I suppose, is the fragile logic working here.

These sorts of bullies stalk their prey, unfortunately from both sides of the divide. As the song says, "This is not America."

An excerpt from my poem "Died In My Mouth" by an earlier me, circa 1980. I was then 25, a budding poet, and a fearless hunter standing among the breeze-swept reeds of Corpus Christi. My, how times have changed. I am no longer fearless.

And the saint thus
Spoke scantily to the prophet:
"He who demoralizes another
"Can claim no morality for himself."
To this the prophet said nothing, but
He knew in part the saint
For a shanty fool.

(And the unfed,
Left to perish among
The unwelcome, left to ravish
The beauty of beast, and the beast
Of beauty, established
Many fine logics.)

I fell blank at such a formula—
Asses built on caged numbers observed,
Deserved and dirty word reserved
For quaint molecules and family,
Where my occupation is a gift to anyone
Stroking along fishy fables,
Mentality tables, cradled
Images, daisies, nightsies,
Keepsies.

I am the yellow sheep
I can’t earn my keep
Proving the fallibility of this text
World without maps
World without worldliness
Matterhorn

My mind, an accurate page.
My head keeps to its own symbol,
There is no comfort.

I wonder what proof died in my mouth.