Dust is A Man, and He Is Not Free

How swiftly sounds,
Those saintly bars
That rest so heavy on my heart
Like iron stars
And stripes of steel
A legacy that weighs
An unwieldy weight that i am loathe to shirk.

A history of red like blood,
And white like supremacy,
And the colour of a chord-choked babe
Fire and diplomacy,
This was not what the New England Eddas promised,
In their star-spangled declaration.

(But why does that papyrus wear those spangles?)

Oh! How death leaves the bones much too plain,
So plain that those glowing Eddas are necessity.
An adornment like so many tin jewels.

Lay bare that black stain on that Banner’s heart,
And rip it asunder.

Sew it anew if you must.