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Ithaca’s Racket

May 27, 2012

By night, all bankers,
American exporters,
with care to cull the

fleece or weave, and watch the string,
let fall the rebel race. The

great master drew the
vital air, the youth of man–
the war profits, too.

An increase of wealth
and fame a committee, till
to Penelope

the profit out of war and
havoc and destruction stood,

and sold the skies, her
towers, with her, and our
munitions makers.

For a dollar is
lost. Yet, five or six billion
dollars worth descends,

suddenly, so that they might
be shot down by bullets made

by their dread seer, his
eyes around the restless main
and more huge profits

and sweet discourse. Of
all the voters but merely
of those who from the

fluent tongue produce the tale
of fame; but leave them safe to

summarize: the song
recalls past horrors to their
hope–is lost–farewell!


Texts statistically analyzed by Gnoetry0.2:
Homer,  Odyssey, tr. by Pope
General Smedley Butler, War Is A Racket

Some post-composition punctuation edits by end-user.

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