A Prayer for My People
That one day
we will wish
to be nothing more
than what we are.
That we will see
the liberation of nations, of concrete.
That we will understand
in the lines of our hands.
There is a war raging in our backyard
With it my sister’s spirit burns
That the fire of my sister’s spirit
will consume our enemies
& burn our streets clean.
There’s a system of mangled necks
Whose heads speak with oracle tongues
That we should learn to walk
with wounded feet
That our eyes must be liberated
from their granite
That our hands re-root themselves
from the pools of acid rain
There’s a river forming in the bureaucrat’s head
Its water made from rusted milk
That we may understand this false constructed world & know:
Do not die!