“The time is now. It’s time for the American people, real men, to saddle up, to go on the march. It’s time to go into the public libraries, to go into these public schools and rip the filth off of these shelves and destroy it. To remove it from the face of the planet for all of eternity, to turn it to ash, and every time it’s reprinted, we do it all over again.”
Stew Peters, Right Wing Watch
(With a nod to Yeats and Lucille Clifton)
Who would believe they loved me?
Who would believe they kept my name?
Whispers turn to screams over broken seals
and bloodless computers and laptops.
At the stake of their god comes
another signal
at the moment I was almost erased.
Had I always been there?
In their head? (In their heart)?
The agent in their stories?
The builder of their frames?
The center of the songs they set
in that gloried, holy name.
The dark that all but held the light
in their church day constellations.
The shadow man that held and made
Their virtual signal protestations.
The reanimating corpse they raised
to their Galilee’s called caves.
Their second Christ of effigies
In the order which they praise?
Beasts and their image usurp all authorities.
A thousand years flash in electronic ember
the two pointed arrow of piety.
Reality and witness descend into a nothingness
that upturns millennia of bones
that chokes witness in praise dances
and flipped shadow hands.
Morning flips its axis in an endless loop
of crucifixion marches past and gone.
Who-in new lit widescreen-could dream
they took me as their son?
