We have lived
too long
among replica altars
among liars
among stars full of gunpowder
among jars of fatal honey
among tongues that sharpen crowns
among feral cats who eat sleep

Now we say
This is war

We can taste old tobacco tonight
in the snow-heavy wind

We believe power can be stunned
by an army of empty pockets
Believe the honor assigned to our charming foes
in their secret councils is a paper-poor foundation
for their church of generals

We are coming into our own

Set phosphorus by their sinks
and lay mines in their marble yards

Speak machete in their stores
Spell our names with letters threaded on fuses
and sign away our lives and theirs

We are coming
Magnet doctors
Shoestring traders
Slim warriors with bones akimbo
Reptile headed whores and their lovers

We know this land as well as they do
Better —
we know where the damage is
how to worm a finger in there
pry out loose bricks
for the throwing
at eagle darkened
sale junky
wealthy dog
soon to be
dead

You gave me a hell of a choice —
take a dive before the little one
you’d just dreamed up
or take the bigger plunge
out of the ring for good. 
I took the second option,
figuring pride would give me better wings,
and I’ve always been one
for the grand gesture. 

In the long years since
I’ve had no regrets.
I watch the little man
and my feathers
just won’t stay still. 

If I had agreed
to bow to him,
I’d have forgotten
myself by now.  This way,
I am still a contender.
You rat bastard —  don’t forget:
I was the favorite
once,
and I have learned 
how to wait.