Today's Empires, Tomorrow's Ashes

The tangled webs they weave

span from Pine to Ruby Ridge,

way back from Shay's defeat

on up to Gustafsen

(now cue the ass parade of ditto-heads and commissars and pricks

to drown out this faintest threat of commie faggot heretics). Conclusion:

the nail that sticks up gets hammered down

and the master's finest

tools are found

slack-jawed and placid ,amidst the cacophony

of screaming billboards, and Disney-fied history.

Sometimes the ties that bind are strange:

no justice shines upon the cemetery plots marked Hampton, Weaver or Anna-Mae where Federal Bureaus and Fraternal Orders

have cast their shadows;

permanent features built into these borders.

But undercover of the customary gap we find between

History and Truth, the Founding Fathers

bask in the rocket's blinding red glare.

The bombs bursting in air. One nation. Indivisible?

The truth is when the back-country learned of ratification

the People had a coffin painted black

and solemnly borne in funeral procession,

they buried it deep in the earth as

an emblem of the dissolution

and internment of their

Publick Liberty.

Someday, somewhere,

today's empires are tomorrow's ashes.