For Crying Out Loud, Poets, No More Killer Clichés

Holy Moses, pilgrims— 

Can’t you see 

 

No matter how 

Hard we try, 

 

There’s always one more just 

Around the bend, hiding 

 

In the bullrushes, burning 

To cry out 

 

Bloody murder 

In the name 

 

Of all those fellow travelers 

Soon to be 

 

Most foully dispatched.