OTHER — B is for brother; R for reality
Recipe for compassion: Add but two letters
to bring thought into resonance with the world.
See that president over there?
He talks peace but has us eat hate, clever
leveraging of fear, and we believe him.
You, there — other, from someplace
far beyond the frame we put around the known,
not brother, not kindred thing or being or presence,
but foreign, alien artifact, hardly human.
O president-kings rising on steps of polished gold,
as we, the servile ones, take the seats reserved
for us in the inner rings of hell,
compulsory feast of distraction, sad spectacle
of one sole channel projecting its glare into eternity.