Sunless Morning

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On a sunless morning in Mexico

with leaves falling in winter

and budding again

the next day

while raucous birds with                                                                                                                                                                     rainbow plumes

cluck and coo,

screech and crow,

and the echoes of voices

of ancient high priests

are still demanding

war or sacrifice,

the actualization of symbolic

death and rebirth

in sadistic ritual,

from atop high pyramids

with obsidian knives

and beating hearts

held in bloody hands,

“So the sun will be reborn!” they scream,

“For the corn!!” they cry, “for the beans!!!”

“So that love might return again

to our empty breasts!!!!!”

 

And then the clouds part

and what was always there is revealed,

and light spills effortlessly

across mountains and valleys and sea,

while drummers drum

and the flutes whistle in triumph

and mothers weep,

and bureaucrats count

and politicians grin

behind death head masks

proclaiming all to be right

and in control again,

and the morning glories are blooming again,

and nothing changes much

except the names

of civilizations.

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2 thoughts on “Sunless Morning

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