Ghosts I-XII

I

American history
Whirling hither and yon in
The early days of
Violence
Would be burned,
Studied,
And tasted
In a severe
Gothic
Odyssey.


To suffer and die
With Southern
Bitterness.



II

Drink all the blood shed
At arm's length.

It's the dark corners of the South
Rolled into one,
With sound effects
And a dash of madness
Thrown in for
The state-rights dogma.


On the march to
Dying,
Overgrown,
Grimy cities filled with
Tyrannical regimentation
An extraordinary
Art
Kneels down in horror.



III

A history of the South
Was already spreading fast
Ever nearer to the grave.


For secession
Burnt all his Witches,
To Maintain
Civilization
Against the Apocalypse
Her superstitions
Just don't know what to believe
Anymore.


IV

The loss suffered by
The South
Avidly devoured
Into Northern ways.


The horrors of
Industry
In the
Deception years
Will become readily apparent
In the present,
Wicked,
Lawless system of things
That
The soundtrack suggests.


V

In the death of
Southern Civilization
Defeat brought up some
Yankee
Priorities.


"A people whose wisdom is paltry cunning,
Whose valor and manhood have been
Swallowed up in corruption,
Howling with sarcastic laughter,
In the marts of dishonest commerce.
"

He is just another evil, greedy
Republican without a country.


The traitors who
Tried the
Holy Grail of
Heavy industry
Achieved classic status.


The Confederate States of America
Like Dust
Recalls that plague.


These evil days arrived
For Southern History
And its
Despair beyond the wilderness.



VI

Years in America
Against change...
When the mountains of death
Assemble.

Life howls and Whimpers
Out of the confinement
And isolation
Of a haunted man.


Slowly his grip on reality begins to go
On the soundtrack...

VII

As if one were to criticize
The history
Or
Struggle beneath the
Terrible
Licentiousness
Of propaganda
In the Union...

Despondency
Would design
This calamity
Some very dark places.



VIII

The state's
Fetishists and/or giggling psychopaths
Who enjoyed torturing people
Were other fire-eaters

Happily
"Heavy on the bolognaise"
Morally Offensive but
Fitfully entertaining in
The Burning down of
Southern attitudes

Where a river flowed between
The fear
Death
Bad Years
And howling demagoguery.


IX

As if one were to criticize
The history
Or
Struggle beneath the terrible
Licentiousness
In the Union

Despondency
Would satisfy a deep
Design,
Muttering
The "symphony" of devastation.

X

The black clad men
Drifted West with the times
To get away
As far as possible
Exploding like some
Arrow in its flight...

The bullets in
Gunslinger punk
Look on.

XI

The Union was not yet dead
For the slaughter
Of the West
From frantic enterprises
Might well persist

XII

Having defected from the USA
And subsequent
People with grudges
The destruction
Gold
of the desert
is showing little respect
For officialdom.