When the nip
of the curled lip
reaches the rallying
surface of paper,

there must be substance

One cannot decree over nothing
sounds may not exhaust
and sacrifice their whims
for the hopes of a deserted rebellion,

there must be truth

You forget
so often your mind mutes
it coils into the half alive
semi state
of being

You forget
that this land we walk
is already compact
and finished

We live in the future

there are no new buildings
all we stand upon
is the bones of old
and the uncorporeal
ghosts
of pioneers ideas

there is no new
nor is there new hardship
every pain in your blood
has been endured three fold
by those living

or not living

But yet we party

our hearts wild beastlies
our ears cocked and pelt upon ends
the swirling swells of music and chant
this ancient illustrious dance...

do not let yourself be bewitched by the past
for one day we will be it.