City Of The Dead Black bodies floating like rotting buoys through the former Mardi Gras streets. Too bad no oil in the veins of the poor, their ancestors slaves of the republic: exploited, expendable, expired through toxic, disease ridden waters. Voodoo mind set of elected officials stick pins through the hearts of common sense and compassion, as they point their well-fed fingers at each other, behind the glaring wall of their lies. Bush, Cheney and Rumsfeld, their arrogance and disrespect toward the lives of the dead, appalling! These gross monsters of prevarication. Three monkey politicians sitting in a row: hear no truth, see no truth, speak no truth. Black woman Rice without a hitch in her voice, without a blink in her eye, without a trace of candor, saying the shamefully hesitant response to the catastrophic disaster not racially motivated. May her ancestors raise up and bitch slap her, may the bodies of the dead in New Orleans, raise up and haunt the halls of her plush affluence, screaming her name: Condeleeza, Condeleeza,  Condeleeza.