They are hunting people in America.
Icemen are in the street, Icemen
on the staircase, in your doorway Iceman.
 
              *
 
Orders have been issued.
Papers: demand; people: seize, take,
transport away from their families,
away from us. Our soil is haunted.
Sons missing, mothers vanish where?
We, too, in hiding a little bit, a lot.
                         
              *
 
Give us this day our daily fear.
Let them eat famishment.
On the road in our rooms, homeless, harried.
 
              * 
 
Bearing false witness, Liesman says,
“If I don’t, someone else will.”
Whereupon he is someone else.
 
Liesmen are hunting truth in America,
tongue-wanking their words over truth 
to make truth mother of lies,
bearer of false witnesses.
 
Truth is our world we are born into.
When nothing is true, each one
is someone else; then I am someone else,
my words estranged among you, strangers.
                        
               *
 
Truth is hunting him in his bunker of gold.
Truth could be anything. How would he know?
Truth could be everywhere. How would he know?
 
               *
 
Happy years hand-wiping-hand, pussy-grabbing,
buck-grubbing, buck-passing, palm-greasing; blood,
now blood is on his hand. Good and blooded.
Like the hard guys: they don’t have to lie
to fuck you over, they just fuck you over.
Hand to nose, sniffing. Nasty! Whoever’s.
 
Truth will out. Blood cries out, “Diesman
Liesman I’sman Iceman conman nonman!” 
“Was I supposed to know? I’m Someone Else.”
Cold hand wipes gold hand wipes cold hand colder.
Ah! glimmer. He plucks it from blood. Billions!
A giggle ripples the face of the void.
Blind Narcissus sniffs, adoring his old anus.
 
                *
 
Were rounded up. Were vanished. They. They. They.
Resurrect themselves in your rash’s blood-red.
Iceman Liesman, your every burning pore confesses.
 
                *
 
If a single truth gets away...
Truth creates the world. 
One truth, one single truth suffices.