“Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,” she recalled,
“With conquering limbs astride from land to land…”
And yet, even so, it had come to pass,
With every military base, with drones
Hovering everywhere, in the drowned dreams
Of exiles, “refuse,” “yearning to breathe free.”
And what freedom now in the Surveillance State
Where every thought was subject to review
And “newsmen” scurried to assess the threat
From hydra-headed, huddled masses—lost,
Renditioned, imprisoned, killed at the behest
Of elected, cowardly Pinocchios,—
Smiling before drug-induced amnesiacs?
They could not remember who they claimed to be;
Nor why; nor how it mattered to posterity.
Only a looming sense of dread embalmed
Them in a kind of amber ghosts might study
In the years ahead—if there were years… ahead.
And so, she wept… as some say Mother Mary weeps;
As some say Rachel wept for her lost children.
Copper-colored tears from cupreous eyes;
Copious tears from her iron skeleton.
Wednesday, 31 July 2013