America

We were the wolves
and the forest they ran through
and the prey they were chasing,
we were all one.

We ate what we killed
and killed all we ate, we were
the carcasses ripped by need,
we were all the same.

Wind in the trees, the cold globe
of the moon, the fiery cross,
the villages burning, the hangings,
we are all this.

Both of the ends of the gun
are ours.  Both the sidewalk
and the mansion are our beds,
we are not different.

Cities, country, dark sky
and wash of neon — we see
in all the shades of night,
and so we are one.

In what we have amassed,
in this heap full of contradiction,
is the germ of how we are,
and here we are all buried.

Break out of the hell mound
and look each other in the eyes,
savor and cower at the night we’ve emerged into,
and admit it: we are all one.