Rot

“Michigan protesters storm state Capitol in fight over coronavirus rules: ‘Men with rifles yelling at us’” –Fox News, April 30, 2020

Your rifle is a self-fulfilling prophecy,

the roots rotted in your mind’s 

Civil War, a sham conspiracy of how
you remain a vulnerable sun to the

system built for you, its planets
rotating mirrors reflecting 

your privilege, one which you’ve clung to
for millennia, the axis unshaken by 

solar flares threatening to disband
an order for a disorder in which 

You are not the center of everything.

For you did not create this place. You did not
invent yellow corn or the wild horse. You

do not own the seas or the storms or the
buffalo’s body. Your dirty bullets and pox 

an inheritance of middle age savagery. Your
Constitution a collection of paper promises

shielding your terrorism, your manged militias,
your hooded wizards, your viral kings 

clamoring to maintain a status quo of 
servitude, unaware your roots will die 

off, eventually,
giving way to new flowering arrangements—

rebirthing a Nation unburdened, unbridled
by the cinematic lies of 

your false supremacy.