Quoth Odysseus: “I know of no sight more pleasing to a man than the sight of his homeland”.
Why are we in tears then, Odysseus?
Is it the the cartography of tears on ashen faces?
Will we find a way, perhaps? What use is hope, you ask? What use are scaffolds against the hurricane? What use is breath?
Hope is the lub-dub of defiant, if failing, hearts.
Scaffolds of the Perhaps, the Never Again, and the Yet Again, to hold us up
to hurl the fiery defiance of the dispossessed,
to lob internal rhymes of our guilty verdicts
on your juggernauts,
to watch you burn,
Burn as we rescind our surrender, splotch our obeisance,
and wave the café au lait flag
burn as we wave it, and wave it, and wave it again.
3.12pm, October 1, 2014