Change vomited dark entrails
Of the bald vulture on my clan;
We were buried,
One after the other,
In the belly of the village stream,
And pulled out
Almost immediately
To choruses that had no place
When waist dance shared peace
From the full moon;
We have brayed and prayed
In the names of strange ancestors
Printed in a book of curses, blessings,
And chronicles of their blessed exodus
But we have been sinking
Down the understream
Among the half dead and the forgotten;
We reek of bile throws
From a turn in history
When our men were led from line
By yellow ants
Thus change has treated
MY clan this badly.
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