P.S. Eliot: Said Lust for War

I've recently discovered the unreal P.S. Eliot, who I first thought was a neurasthenic sort, like his real brother T.S., but when I read this ambitious poem by P.S., I began to sense that he is perhaps made of sterner stuff than either his brother, T.S., or his brother's friends, Ezra and the unreal Extra Pound, so read and decide:

P.S. Eliot: Said Lust for War

Why should my brother T.S. garner praise

for the Wasteland of his writing that lays

into the Westland sharper than unknown

legislators, who sharpen quills, atone

for the sins of Europa's sons, with thrills

of medieval mystery plays, whose chills

run down the spinelessness they so bristle

like quills more mighty than misled missile,

said lust for war, that is the dead'ning lust:

Show me that famed fear, that handful of dust.

This P.S. Eliot has surprised me, assuming that I've read him aright. What do you think? Does he have something important to say? He seems to criticize both left and right as weakening the West.