some men sacrifice
potent truth to potent action
with wet, erect, but
soulless swords
sheathed between their legs.

some men, unwilling
to surrender,
are cheated of victory.

some men, tiptoe
round the lake,
licking when they might
drink deep droughts.
If they would plunge,
naked, into the warm,
tart flow and drowned,
they might live.

but some men chose
cold disconnection,
ration drops of brainy, bloodless, sham,
their deaths,
mere recognitions,
after the fact.