from Blood Upon The Moon… ‘America, Now’

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

America, who are you trying to convince?
You have the smartest people in the world
enslaved to their experience, your propaganda
claims its own victims not in foreign lands alone, but here
in the minds and souls whose control you refuse
to forfeit for an ideal of power you no longer own.

This is the new world, again. The battle lines
define the country you set to waste like high school
adolescents or sport fanatics eager to establish
victory as a state of being. Cowards and bullies
of manufactured courage, you hobble the brave souls
who would tell you of your indulgent treason. Your
machine more important to you than jewels or real love.

America, you are deserted, vacant and empty
as a nuclear city, you have fuelled the lies, the
familiar hypocrisies like scarecrows thrown up
against the foreign demons, the barbarian horde.
They’re all Negroes, Catholics, you know them fully
the ghosts of history you have failed to acknowledge.
Vietnam taught you nothing, America. The evil
yellow men, small and innumerable, so scorned
in their jungle world from the giants of industry.

You have become the enemy, America. You consume
your own in endless wars, an infertile decadent Rome.
You can fix nothing any more your sick call out.
You tell lies of Imperial Reason, you invent battles
that do not exist while ignoring multiplicities of
slaughter, legal and civil, in your own backyard.
Out of the strong and free, the loyal and true, you
attempt to fashion in a furnace of slow death
the reality of noble sacredness. America, you know
all this. America, you are the Great Pretender.

You betray your citizens with bribes and bandages,
while you hallucinate a great and powerful Oz.
You make me ache and wail for what could be.
Your devils are the sages of conscience, the reflectors
of truth: the poets of song who impart the worth
you’ve come to in your contrivances of death and ruin.
Yes, there is a war going on. The borders have been crossed.
The enemies exist who count on our destruction. They
will not stop so you must believe. Allow them to consume
themselves, refuse this inversion of who you are.

Be as great as you have always been. You
are not King David nor a Solomonic few: do not stall, nor
pretend to be any god beyond the comprehension
enthralled with rights and truths you have failed to reconcile.
America, this is not all in my mind. My mind is you.
It has been the longest day and nights since you made
anything, let alone peace with yourself, while remaining vigilant. We
do not belong to them, climb down off the cross. You are not lost
unless you choose to wander while they lie in wait. This
mission is sacred not a rehearsal for a play that will end neither
well nor on Broadway. We are not the world. We are few and special.

I do not apologize if I have offended your judgment crew.
I will be alive to witness the rebirth of
what is always new and I am on the list of those whose
lives are your victory, the herald of truth and reality.
You must decide. You always knew it would be this
way before you came to the cliffside of your dominion.
America, there is nothing else left to be done, anymore.

Consent to their great follies and pride. Let the Nations desire
once again to come to you. Allow them their suicide.
Their ghosts will haunt them again without a guide. Lenin,
Mao, that cockroach Stalin, Ho Chi Minh, and Hussein.
Let them pay the penalties coming due in the next breath you take.
Become yourself. Get busy with the day to day of morning
in the USA, take hold of the gift only you can give away.

It cannot be taken. Accept your own greatness by inviting
your children to the serious work of play.
The party is over, your venues bankrupt: it’s time
to be reborn, to reinvent those truths from where you start.
In your own backyard there is much to be done
before the tides wash away the shore, claiming everyone.

America, those other sweethearts will break your heart.

 

©Dean Baker

 

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