The Inheritance

well

doggone

buddha be damned

if it isn’t

all past tense now

reaping

time

for

america

blood

spilled across

continents

coming home

congealed in the shape

of an orange rooster

trying to rule the hens

heavy elements

in their eggs

oil pumping through their veins

lead filling their arteries

feeding their hearts

mercury measuring

the temperature of hell

without a thermometer

now is

a private time

powered by lithium

with armies

of pale mercenaries

concentrated

hidden wealth

walled estates

ghosts of

generations of guns

popping and banging

as if in a dream

and the hollow

bullets killing

anyone who wakes up

ministers of god

bestow blessings

for the usual tithe

in fortified churches

in this time

of faltering

the priests know

there is still

good money

to be made

doing jesus

impersonations

the crazy pretenders

to the throne

mirror who

we are what

we are about

to become

and nothing sustains us

some check their iphones

a few inquire of their parents

about

the

inheritance