Gomorrah: A Poem For The Fourth of July

Watch us here,
Mark us, our Empire, our World,
Be careful not to choke on your eyeful:
Our Irradiated, gold fields with their hands
     Stuck like beetles in tree sap.
     Unspeaking their woes with tanned lips,
     Choking behind masks and wasps.
     This is not what they wanted, but
     This is what they are given.
Our skylines with firefly eyes
     behind which, every night, is a beating.
     We were fools and couldn’t stand that
     these towers stood equal with a woman
     and her torch, so we built them higher
     and with fists that have no need to protect
     a flame or body.
Our Railways that straddle our waste
     from belt to sunken, feasting chains.
     What promise, what commerce, came from
     this iron stampede? The massacre of
     red, of green, of yellow: the mixing pot
     is our blood bag, struggling to pump
     the keep pure hope alive.
Gomorrahns: gun-soaked Gomorrahns,
     sign-waving Gomorrahns,
     white-housed Gomorrahns,
     murder-aquitting Gomorragns all.
     Our hands are so small because they
     never practiced holding another heart.
I would rather be a cockroach, K,
     than a patriot with their property.
     Be a smear before being a flag;
     be hurt by apples,
     before throwing down seeds.
What are we that worship a man with a
     kettle-hat equal to he who slew a mountain?
     A bum to he who wielded Freedom
     like Moses threw down Laws?
What are we that we do not pacify
     the birthing cry of gunpowder smoke
     that howled with war once, then again?
     But relish the thought of eternal birth,
     to kill another in the name of one liberty
     again and again?
Gomorrahns, we live on fatburgs
     we live on the backs of cleaners.
     Humanity is cleaner than ourselves in
     Its will to fix a nation of clogs.
     They have no need for voices anymore,
     they have learned to breathe without air,
     only swords are worth their lungs.
Hypocrites? No, for they will cut us down
     for virtue where we cut for fat.
     They will cleanse the vermin that
     would cleanse the wheat.
     They see the poverty in our cornucopia,
     They know what needs be done.
So stand aside your liberties,
     around your waiting coals.
     Wait upon your land, bought by
     ancestors from strangers.
     Stolen by strangers from strangers
     before them: the first blood of all Nations.
They are the swift God’s hand you have been waiting for:
     it is dark, it is unfair, it is beautiful, it is just,
     it is vengeful, it is unmanly, it is sick, it is real,
     it is scarred, it is afraid, it is what it is and
     it is not you.
Be grateful it is not you, your blessing
     is to be the first blood of a new Nation.
     Better than before.
     Welcome the difference.
     Gomorrah, it is time you become

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