A review by frudzicz
Collected Poems 1909-1962 by T.S. Eliot

3.0

I rushed, hurriedly, determined, bitter, beaten
Consumed by that bean burrito half eaten
Racing, chasing dreams, caught, pinned down, interrogated
Somalia
Sleep deprived, ham on rye
Guantanamo
And as I slipped past a stream I caught on a gossamer beam a glimpse of a reflection in that mirror so vast and deep
My mother
And I swear by all that is dear that I will hear and see clear without fear for as I am surmising so too is my voice rising
Like an eagle or a beagle with a contraption
And I will NOT be some action for your racist faction
Or my name isn’t Tex.