Oh For The Day When The Bombs Stop Falling

Oh for the day
when the bombs stop falling.

When the humans stop biting
and stabbing each other
and spraying everything
with blood and oil.

When the men remove
their iron breastplates
and stand tender and vulnerable
in their original beauty.

When the women retrieve
their tongues
from the lead-lined jars
in the basement
and sing feral and free
beneath the streetlights.

When we release the eels
and arrows from our bellies
and stop bracing for the impact
of the fists of our fathers.

When we vomit out
the nattering humonculi
in our skulls
and live
in our natural serenity.

When we stop taking orders
from the bank boys
and money men
and join hands with the cousins
they trained us to snarl at.

When we turn the gunships
into gardens
and make the robots
work for us.

When we come together
as native terrestrials
against the freaks
with mechanical minds.

That will be the beginning.
That will be our birth day.
That will be the dawn
of a wild and wonderful
adventure.

Good morning.