Lament

If it is not known to everyone, then it is known, at least,
To those dusty men
Who bury themselves in scholarly books
And make a study of the Lone Star State,
The Rattlesnakes’ State,
The state where the mounds of Caddo bleed
And an axe will split the sky,
That it is a state
Not entirely our own.

There are those
In Texas
Who bluffly say
That they’ll break free
But they are dust
Straw dogs
Texas shall not leave.

But

One day
The English Queen may rise
And say,
“We have decided
That once again
Texas should be Our own.”

Then the dragonflies shall fly low
And in their fear
Forget to heal the snakes

And wood cut
In the right moon
Shall splinter
Even so

And centipedes shall boil from their nests
Swarming through the Starbucks’ of the land

And deep
Deep
In the wells
In the oil wells
The British soldiers shall come

Deep
Deep
In their tunnels
Under the sea
In the tunnels
That have always led
To oil
Though never
We have known

Deep
Deep
They shall come
And rise
And the Union Jack rise
And the redcoat rise again

Black as the wells
Through which they came
And red

It is not our fault
Texas is not our own
It is a state
Too big
For
Any nation
To contain

And the crown of the Queen
Shall have one more jewel
And a single
Yellow
Rose

And on our flag
A single
Missing
Star

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