The mountain has come to Mohammed. The bivouac nation upturned. The dapple in the apple, a worm at it’s core. One is turned to gravel, for one dust to dust. All in the name of Bin Laden. Or so we’re led to trust. The worm, the worm, the conquering worm. His quest a chthonic pathway east to tap the subfusc river. He gaps his sewn mouth, and speaks of peace. Gives us a sense of trust. But he eats between his terms. And what he eats is dust. “Pleased to meet you”, He says. (I hope you guess his names.) Then he talks of oneiric wants, fields of verdure, fresh streams, alpenglow mountains rising from dust on twilight horizons. He prays to a new world and in him we trust. Yet those indelible souls remain while from the ramparts the worm watches. The guns and the bombs lambent until dawn when the soldiers mark notches on helmets. Day by day losing trust in who greets them with smiles. Singin’ “Another one bites the dust”. The mountain has come to Mohammed by the hand of the land of the worm. Through a prestidigitation of justice . Distracted by the constant alarm. But in the land of sand and dust. Their blindness like ours is begotten from the words in god we trust.