More’s Why Bombed-Out Towns Get Bombed More

There’s a link from the worst
To the best that you live,
That you act, and it’s more.

You wake up to clear skies,
And when the sun floods grass
So the dun stems flash gold

In some small patch you watch
As if your thoughts owned it,
You think, this is good. More

Of this, you hope to get
More. And at the far end
Of that wish and the fear

You might not see the sun
Lay such sweet gold in grass
Next time, or the next, might

And will lose all this soon,
Bloom the harsh acts you take
To keep your patch from them,

The ones like you who want
More. Let them have less! More
Is what you’ve earned. Take it

Back from them. Push them off
Your sweet gold patch of grass,
And if, like you, they won’t

Go, bomb them. Bomb them more
If you have to, as much
As you can. Make them run,

Off your patch, off their patch,
And bomb to ash what’s left.
Sun turns their ash gold. More.

True, in the midst, there’s much
Not as sweet, not so cruel.
Most of what is most you

Just lives and does, not much,
In that midst, what you do.
But when that flash glows? More.