Are you ready for when tomorrow dies?

Decipher just illusions under a parlor sophist
demarcations for democracy and noon shadows
presenting that you are unharmed by the smoke
in the mirrors of your right and left lungs
there will not be a way, not away, not to dark lamps
here under the turnpike of obstructed allusions to take
nothing here will be as inviting to you
as your past mistakes, as something you can take back

Exhaustion for the tourniquet on the far off Mars landing
placebos soon graduating to hills talking to Me
here are the bellies of dancing spring sponges
talking you down from the bridge like a tyrant
only to be called back to the White House
unreliably swinging your head to the bark pattern
the strangers crossing the street talking like Jolie Holland
crying into God’s microphone

There are fountains made for this moment
that are his and that are hers and that are theirs
did giving risk straddling sure sirens accuse the sun
of being too bright against the pages now upturned

Under this portrait book of the postmark of past whiteness
nearer to the sadness and horrified and the buried pillows
mother will you care or be like father doubling down
on the crime of the past without a trial, sharing denial

return the land, avenge the enslaved
the birds of God are calling
abolish currency, open free education
the birds of God are calling