What is the problem,
what are the rules,
who gets to decide?
Open doors in civic buildings:
dark rectangles with false promises
inscribed above. No light in there.
Parchment overwritten and amended
in secret alphabets that say one thing
and demolish everything else.
What time sunrise,
what time sunset,
who names the hours in between?
Stars no sky ever held.
Stripes as stark as wounds.
Snapping in time to bone music below:
a flag well-suited to become
a tourniquet, a shroud,
a tablecloth for some elite meal
at a table where clumsy speeches
mingle with the sound of chewing, swallowing,
spitting out gristle.
Where is the barricade?
Where are the guards?
Who is the gatekeeper?
What tools do we need?
What will it cost us?
When do we begin?
Dark Matter 
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