the dust of the damned

of ashes, and only ashes we send them
tall black
walking
referendums
men in hats
colored by their smug grins
dreams dressed in ties, a bit to snug

who took the dream
from its box
and made it display
a mausoleum
rather than
shiny-new-ready-for-assembly?

who undressed our civil memory
caught in the haze of breezy talk
lifted up what we skirt
and revealed
what men left uncovered?

what won't men steal in the name
of freedom
and hand over for
thirty sheckles and a prize?

people need to believe
in their heroes
so agonizingly
they become their breath
they mold the lie with their hearts
until gold and gleaming
it tarnishes like silver

how are you? my sister, they say smiling.
my brothers who hang their hat on my heart
shine their shoes with my bruise
pay their rent with my debt
but would not offer me a cold glass of water
for my thirst

the truth is,
YOU wouldn't understand if I told you
so instead I will pray
and be patient.

besides
who am I to smother
their lungs
with the greedy kiss
of truth?
who am I to be
cupping and sucking
an open nose
of gods, who are but ashes
men, who are but dust?