The most beautiful thing

Why bother calling the gods 
if they never listen? 
Let’s run under the snipers
 today the most beautiful thing
 is dying in a napalmed country
 The blacked-out sun in the smog 
and no flame can singe 
 victory’s thieving fingers 

 Hobble on your stumps
 salute your barrel-bombed city 
as best you can [T 1280, 1275. S 17]