These are the dark elements of indiscretion:

lies we call them, pitched and tumbling into the fire.


Terrible amalgam of a tyrannical alchemist:

subliming deposition, depositing sublimation,

no state exists between your extremes.


Only blood boils, and only here in our liminal hearts,

bubbling, beating betwixt assaults .


We are smothered and crushed by ether and stone,

offended and broken by breath and in bone.


Your words become the blade, become the words, become the blade

which cuts, which cut, which cuts into the earth

and I fall into the gaping maw of new division,

crying all the long while:


My Country! My People!

My Country! My People!


and burn like a tortured city in the tired arms of war.