A Programming Poet for Guramboe

There was no day break in the Navajo valley
where the star porters had landed Dos Equis
Scuttlin' in from hurrican vectors that lit the back-lit veil
A shroud of parachutes cabled with uncomfortable rust anchors
Set out around their camp to mark the passing of drunken ages

They had passed all night that way; a dull canopy it was..........
At first. They had rolled in their canvas in order to set up
A cordon of maps, clear and transluscent, of VAlles Marineris,
The Marwyth section where adventures before had been purged
of their memory, focusing too clearly on their imminent self-destruction

Whitey Ford could be found, in theory, pummeling direction and
disparaging remarks into the various discordant Marines
Well-prepared for the under-taking of securing the greek-fire agreement
Holding down the weight of massive pylons, under threat of atmospheric
Collapse, and/or radioactive fallout-from the war-head polar agreements