The Confederacy of Spirit

Bleed my arm with unheated voices.
Calm its authorities with Negro English.
Tear down its heart of silence and affluence.
Remove its eyes with automatic languages.
Burn its will with indescribable matches.
Hang for treason the breath of its inner state.

Let all tongues sleep with the sulking and dead.
Bury them in opaque flags.
Starve the population with the threat of diseases.
Poison its love with music.
Read to it with shining graves.
Kiss it with cowardice and light.
Leave by its name the contempt of all governments.
Attach to its
smile the violent death of all self made democracies.
Roasting in rich
white marble furnaces the blood type a mob burns.