Because the rocket’s red glare
blinded ancestors but did not
deafen ears to the sound of
truths come back to haunt
the desolate mansions of
our manhood.
Because songs of the railroad
will be sung ’til iron bends in
the grasp of freedom.
Because one man’s story
is the story of many.
Mythic folklore of the future
deciphered by those who dare.
Because the answers to every
question ever posed sits numb
before the camera knowing
a flash of light cannot fathom
its essence.
Because the laughter of our
generation will pierce the crying
souls of Vieques and El Paso, of
those who cannot forget the Alamo,
nor the creeping hands of the
Confederacy.
And when this
chalk outline circles our city
we will conjure that mythic strength
and return to the drawing board and
each village and commune will take
the name of a made-up story,
handwritten by
the children of survivors.