Prince Cellophane and the Trot Laughter of Cellulose in the Water

tripping on the esteem of Elephants,
like dank plastic demarcated lines
foiled upon entry to the promise land
these teased fomenting diatribes or salt and regret

do not accelerate the rhythm
like trees practicing celibacy under the camouflage of night
wicked translocation, drifting up to a celebrated story
now burnt towns at the outposts of darling retrieval

retrieval for ghosts and native forgiveness
unlike any other spatter of upbringing
an adult in the pain of the memories of slavery
too immersed in the poetry of liberty that speaks to poverty

just once more will we fill our hearts with regret
to the disabled we have naturally denied of ourselves
because we were never taught to accept ourselves
never seen ourselves as victim in class warfare,
now the puppets are drawn waist-deep
and the enemy more clear than ever for saddening grips