“Harumph,” you may say, but please:
Bare witness to these map-edges unfurled!
Pour thy vision over the peeled back skin,
lavishing the grip of truth's tightly woven skeins.
Oh, I notice you – baleful, hollow,
frightened tiny-eyes in the midst of my roar.
Your death rattle pales in the view
of these newborn Four Horsemen.
My words – speculation, in fact, merely predict.
Feeling these rusty fetters laying their promised hold
over the backside of US – a nation, a beast of burden:
brutally sputters a cruel message.