Beneath the radiance of victory, the dignified sheen of the bald pate of a Chicago politico; nothing seemed to change, nothing seemed to change ’cause those so steely willed were mere sophomores to this status-quo game of bite- and-blow and let sleeping dogs lie in the path of pit-bulls pathetically prepped no farther than the next cold meal amidst this wintry blast – beneath the radiance of such momentary victory nothing seemed to change, for the founding phantoms of our fate and destiny, it seemed, had rigged up the deck of victory against those they self-righteously claimed to have hauled out of the bog-peat into the celestial gaze of the dream – we are the mockery of dreams feigned, dreams deliberately planted in the path of snow-storms, suffered to sprout to ankle’s length, and then white-washed and swept off the skull-smooth scalp of the land – the radiance of victory, the smoky-smell of the victim abstractedly sacrificed in the name of this season of glut amidst the cusp of a dust- bowl – 11/14/10 By Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr.