Exclusively in the new print issue of CounterPunch
FATTENING WALL STREET — Mike Whitney reports on the rapid metamorphosis of new Fed Chair Janet Yallin into a lackey for the bankers, bond traders and brokers. The New Religious Wars Over the Environment: Joyce Nelson charts the looming confrontation between the Catholic Church and fundamentalists over climate change, extinction and GMOs; A People’s History of Mexican Constitutions: Andrew Smolski on the 200 year-long struggle of Mexico’s peasants, indigenous people and workers to secure legal rights and liberties; Spying on Black Writers: Ron Jacobs uncovers the FBI’s 50 year-long obsession with black poets, novelists and essayists; O Elephant! JoAnn Wypijewski on the grim history of circus elephants; PLUS: Jeffrey St. Clair on birds and climate change; Chris Floyd on the US as nuclear bully; Seth Sandronsky on Van Jones’s blind spot; Lee Ballinger on musicians and the State Department; and Kim Nicolini on the films of JC Chandor.
Poor Poe turned white and cold and hollered out into the hollow deep: Where is the tin can that contains my heart? It is full of worms and other organisms. It cannot make a peep. Edgar paints his skin with soil. Poor thing wronged again, Paint it black it might bleed oil. A well, oozing […]

From Your Young Cousin

by JULIA LANDAU

Poor Poe turned white and cold
and hollered out into the hollow deep:
Where is the tin can that contains my heart?
It is full of worms and other organisms.
It cannot make a peep.

Edgar paints his skin with soil.
Poor thing wronged again,
Paint it black it might bleed oil.
A well, oozing in relief,
Is finally spent.

Oh, soft dark bottom, breathing becomes you,
You are too tired to be cautious.
Paint to black, I say! Love the night!
I never knew you to be so suspicious
(never victim so pernicious)

But it’s easy to get carried away–
To cry out to unselfish blind angels,
To mistrust blackhearted love
Which is not warm, but beats and bleeds
(A victim so pernicious)

Porcupine takes a laugh from the spine
Breastfed on bourbon
She never liked the stuff
And stands aghast at the clothesline.
"I could never touch cotton."

"Rough stitches," said the yarn
"I don’t want to raise alarm,
But me and hay are at odds
Since we fought it out in the barn."

You were born solo, I was a twin
Earth is set in her ways,
She’ll never make it back again.
Go tell the old rooster to crow.

JULIA LANDAU can be reached at: julia@julialandau.com