NIGHT SUN

There is writing in the milk of your skin in the blue channel of your eyes

in the deep root of your tongue.

I cannot explain these images:

only move about them in wonder,

tell you that it has been so forever

rung by rung as we climb this ladder

that leads from world to world,

axis mundi: the four braded pillars

that restrain the crush of the sky.

There is an alphabet written in your flesh I saw it in the moment of your birth

fresh from that dark fight into light

first breath of this too heated air.

A pox on Columbus:

a pox on a monopoly on morality:

a pox on the long nightmare of history.

Were I yet a shaman I would absolve you

from the insult of memory, your debt

a future written in blood and stupidity

long before you surveyed the shambles

of your inheritance remember in second grade you were already a Toxic Warrior...

What now sweet prince?

Squeeze the colors from the rainbow

for power is a pestilence that pursues you.