Black Jack
Prairie City,
moonlit boulevards:
we watched the gentry
swing from yardarms.
The old and the young-
Ruffians dragged from sleep.
Fathers and their sons,
danglin’ above Pottawatomie Creek!
As the executioners work,
slogging without a word,
I make peace w/genocide,
& stand like a statue in the herd…
I’ve mortgaged fear for faith;
I’ll march to yonder town!
I am with you, my fair Father!
I go to war with wise John Brown!
The Shit of Adim Witt 