YES to
a right war
a good burning
a sweet crush of smoke 
a cracking big crackle 
a lovescream or two 
a flower on a coffin
a thousand thousand bloom decked coffins
a thousand million wails of wailing august healthy grief
YES to
a stress fracture long as san andreas
a wound open as a candidate’s wide white mouth
a sky full of drone opinions making for a target
a blue hole in deep sea damage waters holding dead secrets
YES to
a why that makes a what better
a how that makes a why clean
a who that makes a how sweeter
a what that makes a when dance
YES to
a big love that manifests in a dark slap of reason
a slaughter that makes a forest rise from bones and regret
a dirt pile over ruins heaped on top of high stacks of stolen histories
YES to 
the end of this
the end of this 
the end of this 
NO
this negation 
this denial
this not now
this not yet
this not that 
this not this so
YES
to YES
to YES
to going through NO with YES
like a bulldozer to grand wizardry
like a blowdown missile to bad bunkers
like a softbomb to dim corners of hiding 
like a mistake multiplied enough times to come correct
when called
to YES through NO
take YES
BE
YES
be YES
YES
YES

A nation of plague doctors
in plague doctor masks,

walking untroubled
by the smell of bodies.

What long beaks full of flowers. 
What dark cloaks they don 

to walk among the sick insisting
they have the cure: social unity, false kindness, 

willed blindness to what ails
those who stand before them.

A reliance on unseen Someones
in the sky.

A certain ruthless innocence
upon hearing corrupted narratives.  

What short memories.
What a short time since

they were themselves
the sick, the subjects of pain and lies.

What pity they would feel for themselves
if they were to be unmasked.

What panic would ensue, what
screaming, what fever would spread

if they realized how little
lavender and rue can do.