what if yours is a revolutionary song
that represents these thousand flowers blooming
and we can look up at you all christ-eyed,
skeletal with a green-screen
or maybe a thorned god with ashen hooves?
it’s mad that there could be a generation that finally sees
all nation-states as bastard children.
it’s mad that there could be a generation that sings
‘we’re the mace in cantwell’s eyes,
we’re the fist in spencer’s temple’
yet here they all are –
spitting on the sky-cloth
kissing each other outside the cash nexus
and rotting to your music.