Tuesday, January 24, 2017

Inauguration Day, 1/20/17

Swing low, sweet chariot and each my outstretched arms
beneath the tides of safety and standard I'm sinking,
weighted by my elbows shoved into sides my
fingers buried deep in other people's pockets
my arches stained by blood and nail, toes
like stepping stones. The wearing of my
welcome hopeless, haughty-hearted
buried in my blessing
confetti in my hair

Swing low, and blitz the buring, the lynch mob
awaiting crying for justice, hours to atone as I
hold to fleeting hope that, somehow, some
way salvation calls the name of this
carpetbagger, turned transcendent
trying hand at blossoming, a self-
deceiving brick layer
buried in my blessing
confetti in my hair

And where were you, you mongol, audacious and awaiting
the limits of my liberty, my chances running out
take heed and call your witness as evening's
light is fading. I slip away again
buried in my blessing
confetti in my hair

Here we stand, an army of discontent, punching clocks
and watching calendars. Concentrated effort only
several inches short of greatness commercials
promise. Slowly, with no determination
whatsoever, we crawl toward the
finish line, the tortoise to the
hare of kings and queens,
standing tall on layered
bodies, no sympathy
for the vanquished
they were smitten
weakness. And
I, chief among
them, look up
at the Italian
buried in my blessing
confetti in my hair

It's us and them, you know. Friends who share our heritages, enemies
who do not. This solidarity of interest, the interest of self, hallowed
by its treasure lucrative and luxurious so draw the lines, sweet
chariot that we may stand to face them, to sell our souls for
their limits, their beautiful ramparts, safety awaiting within
where our blood may not be tainted and our money won't
be messed with. defeat the barbaric other, suppress the
calls for fairness, destroy the precepts of same ness.
Call the devil by his name, that he will no longer
oppress us, the huddled middle class
buried in our blessing
confetti in our hair

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