Those politics
will eat you for breakfast
and leave the empty plate
smeared with grease
That’s not God in your needle
That’s not love in your message
That’s not virtue in your stained glass
That’s not power in your eyes
I can see you
the same way I
can see straight through myself
just another tail
chasing itself
around the cycle
we have suffered
and survived before
Mounds of dirt
vials of blood
bones and ash
piled atop the earth
Anthills
Molehills
Kingdoms
Fiefdoms
Empires
are all
sooner or later
eventually
kissed by their sacrifices
and smashed
by the hands of time
That’s not gold in your teeth
That’s not love in your mission
That’s not honor in your oilfields
This is not your reaping of wheat