Take heed, dammit, and make way

one by one his led-footers march
over a weary nation’s dreams
the jackboot jumpstart
of the tyrant’s battle hymn
“all for one and one for none”
rings out like such a kick-ass song
for the ass-kickers, those strung along
by a despot’s maggoty whim

heavy boot-treads stamp,
dim the stars and twist the stripes
stomped in free will’s name
for shame
draped in the ghost of the great and the free
the starry-eyed, red-capped brigade — march to meet their destiny
with stakes so high
it’s a grisly game
for the pledged and allegiant
trumped up in his name

they come to seek safety
in his hurricane eye of hate
itching and inching to a bleak,
blue horizon
where, behold, their cross
at a clockwise tilt
shines in the searchlight glare
as the shattered bits of conscience melt
into a flood of red, blood-drop tears, commanded by the craven-one-in-chief
amid covfefe cheers

hear the tyrant scream
stuffed in his gilded cage
from an eagle-eye-perch
the one-eyed idiot cries
and recasts the past
in cliffhanger lies
his reality shows
a belly-bloat rage
destined to devour us
in his double-speak haze

as he screeches
and picks his teeth
with the dregs of our truth
looking down from his flaming white watchtower
through a madman’s stare
he smiles at this eleventh hour
the slits in his eyes ablaze

hear them come
arms, clip-clap, swing-low
to the rhythm of the bell
his hell upholds their chariot well,
flying through
the dust-dead air
the body in full politic
yes it is, what it is,
he is who he wants to be
still, they’ll come
to make their mark
count them in as they rally
for the final round
louder now
as the sound of the jackboot, brute resounds
see them come in blasts like an earthquake from furies past
that bleed into the here and now and ever after
on a death-trek that grows larger with each step
strong arms dripping sweat and laughter, aching to break into the new hereafter

sure-footed they come still
step by step, writ by writ, flame by flame
the left-behinds
the forgotten dead and gone
all the way
to liberty’s rubble
these bone-weary-tired
open-eyed wild and wide
their ragged pockets rich with purpose
and a bellyful of hope for change
their love for the homeless and tempest-tost
shelters the founders who were never lost
help them come
let them build again

feel them come
with cutters, picks, and mattocks
to break free of walls with wails and wonder
to shield each other from the bluster and bullets
to punch up with blood-soaked fists
to spear the thickening dark
to exhale in awe and majesty
to storm the gates
to drench the flaming sword
to steal the fruit
to burn the bush
to plant the seed anew
to unearth the end of days
and scream
until their teeth drop like stones
from heaven at the mount
so that mercy reigns, at last, unstrained

so, tick tock, tick tock,
this time it’s telling you
listen and weep not, weep not
for the death-knell ring
when at 12 score plus five and twenty days
past the first founding of a nation, the good and the great fly high
and the sting of the scorpion king
will fall
then justice will rise clear-eyed
to see the visible, indivisible,
and embrace all
who’ll sing their triumphant refrain
over and over and over again

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