To the rock of Sisyphus: North Korea

To the rock of Sisyphus: North Korea

: A tide, yes a tide of blood.

We say so weedy a race

only happens in mythology. 

There the famished plump

the bellies of their camels in wars

empty of complaints.

Unicorns thin out

in paper jungles

to survive the vinegar

of our contracted livers.

Uta’s stare, and the absolute silence

of slender bony people

wearing black cornflowers,

and purple cabbage-roses

on their surgically enhanced

lipped smiles at funerals

revive our fears.  There is no Shangri-La,

no forest, or canyon far enough

to stand guard against their stiff

lean assault on peace.