Mother of Fog of War [Today's News Poem, February 10, 2011]
Bring the majority unit.
Speak, let the gasses cohere
Misting the windows with promise.
Cadres in uniform blow
Fog of all—mother of warfare
Into the room. She invents
Shackles for fingers and eyelids,
Vises for arteries, veins;
Clamps for the lungs and the heartbeat;
Stencils to color the thoughts
Squeezed out of blemishes, pimples.
"Under pressure to make deeper spending cuts and blindsided by embarrassing floor defeats, House Republican leaders are quickly discovering the limits of control over their ideologically driven and independent-minded new majority."
—CARL HULSE, The New York Times, Published: February 9, 2011
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