You’re too much on the fly, not enough
Feet on the ground, too much a burning
Candle at both ends, too hot to handle
& too cold to hold. If you move too fast
Into the heat you will shatter like a light-
Bulb. Your murals colored w/ shades not
Legal in the country where you were born,
But your tags all painted over. So you stew
In your own juices, hope the bromide &
Mercury have made a way into the branches
Of your rivals, your enemies, your erasers.
You are desperate not to be erased, New
American—who could blame you besides
The voice-over narration from the movie
Being filmed inside of your unreliable head?
You are the science & I am the sweet
Chile, the hydraulic, the knowhow.
You are the master & I am supposed to
Bow at your feet, but I can’t go for that.
What I can do for you instead is deep
Background, reconnaissance, the enemy
Killed in action. We make our decisions
For whatever lord we answer to alone,
New American. You are the righteous
Man & I am the tyranny of evil men, of
Arsonists, of monsters suicide bombing
In broad daylight—the battlefield makes
Its own decisions. You are blue sheets
Of glass. I am leaves of grass for the rake.