Beyond is a voice and it says:
There is a car and the door is about to open.
There is a voice and it answers:
And destruction is pointed at the boy of history.
The future is the shadow of a boy, arms raised
whose eyes widen toward bloom as they stand:
two bodies of struggle. The officer believes
the instrument’s sermon, believes the gun
is fueled when he shines it. Color the cloth violence.
He buffs the bright cylinder from which the bullet
will emerge and points it toward a future intention.
Color the cloth vengeance for it has no true name.
Are justice and victory the same laurels?
The world spins mindful of its past.
I envision, now, my son rising, arms above him,
like hosanna out of a car.
Creation Myth
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