Shadows of the main road at dusk

Was I trying to build something in a past life?
Did I look at stone structures and threaten to burn them down?

The altar they built
4 miles north
of the city
is made of only sandstone and lime so that no
righteous flame could
ever lick its structure.

Set free your heathen slaves!

Let loose the fire that surrounded Shadrac
but refused to touch!

Look west to the land of ancient
indigenous fucks.

Cloak yourself in the flames
of satan’s furnace.

Keep the burning around you like a halo
and burn through
the sandy night.

The sheriff and the slave-holders
moved out into the dust bowl plains
to shoot wildly
into swarms of locust and burning pyres.

The sheriff shouting
and flashing his badge.

Your empty western homes have been reimagined,
and are now products of the industrial revolution!

Where is the anti-industrial progress?
what agrarian angel will come
to make our beds and promise light at the end of the tunnel of night?

When will our dust bowl morality
turn its head and eat
the Midwestern cities that have become
more delicious than useful?

Who dares speak out from the mind-numbing
weariness?

Stacks of paper and smoke build up high and dare to create monuments of themselves.
Another false revolution!

There is no more beautiful word
in any language.
Yet they took it
and subjugated it.
whipped it and
made it take their family name.

Those captains of control
who oversee the measuring and mass marketing
of childrens blankets
will not likely rest until those gilded stacks
of smoke and paper.
Have stars or angels at their peak
and speak of muted Christian celebration with their mass.