The membrane—
vibrating with kazoos
and patriotic marching
bands spilling over
Battle Hymn of the Republic—
reflects an impure light
On this bone—hung like a trophy—
on this skin erasing itself
slowly down under
where the glitter is,
where the road curves, spurting pansies
where you stomp them down
wearing goose-step moonboots
To wipe yourself away
It claims dominion
bribing us with courtesy
fusing Its opposition to our ferocity
As we police the vacant streets
looking for you.
It would seem you’ve purloined everything,
illegitimating, they say,
that which makes.
*
On this bone—hung like a trophy—
It claims dominion
As we police the vacant streets
Vibrating with kazoos
On this skin erasing agent
Looking for you
Legitimating, so they say,
Slowly beneath
That which makes
The glitter where
The road curves, spurting pansies
Reflecting an impure light
That you stomp down
Wearing goose-step moonboots.
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