Who you are no longer matters
Your past lies papery in a dark corner, skin and shell gone for good
And you, like a fog, are suspended
Pressing the world close at hand, yet falling to disappear at the end
What is a country? you ask then you know the bold brush of borders that keeps someone in
And pushes one out of the nest they have woven so breaking one calls them again.
THE WORK THE WORK the mantra it goes
Building our towers of triumph again
And none of the spectacle speaks of the workers
And no one is asking of them.
For they are the work no more and no less
The wind cuts a shift and they float on away
But this time the wind left the grain unsuspended, and IT falls with speed unfaltering, terminal
It falls into the soil of another make-believe.
Will fruit be forthcoming?
Who bothers to dream?. I just wish resurrection
I wish resurrection
For death and spent chaff and for me.