The Severance of Your Genius (In Little Papercuts)
We were cut from the Jerusalem sun.
The pile of rags in the oils of the sand
The Quaking ground lifts up our prisons
And your genius is questioned.
Then cut with precision.
You laid there in a paper trail
We call you the symbol of love
We live in the greed that you spread
The blood from all our hearts
On this poisonous haunted land
Because you fear now –
That maybe your freedom is tainted.
Watching from an exploded mind
The freeways full of a new rage blinding –
From metastatic stars on American car plates
Still swallowing back the aftertaste
The countless years of hate.
An embolism on a prairie field An effigy of supposed heroes peel
We are afraid of an apocalyptic drowning
The sweat pours like the killing clouds
Under the wires, we fall to the pop.
After a soul vaporizes they –
dream up a puppet and call him the new chosen one.
The devil lives inside the passing tornado
In the winds of change, our blood shall run in.
Cutting from the liar’s kiss
photo by Ruedi Haberli-JKlip (unsplash)