nothing is lost

nothing is lost if it can be found

buried on the mall 

under hundreds of swarming bodies,

where mystery can spotlight angry cats 

frozen in the national headlights

with their fallen flags,

somber slogans,

and conspiracy creations

like hissing jacks in the box. 

the feral mob surged in a ritual dance

of unpatriotic assembly,

waving wondrous amounts of misguided prayers

like guided missiles,

and with battering rams and broken glass,

the rotunda of the home of the brave,

was under siege,

with loud exhortations for combat in the streets!

our America's mayor, speaking with a crooked tongue,

revisited Lexington and Concord and met a lying

president.

oh, the land of the free!

oh, hallowed halls!

Whigs and the bald men 

comb over memories of

echoes and violent snorts,

finding strange bedfellows in blind alleys.

a single pistol shot 

struck a fatal blow,

and the woman 

who crawled thru a cracked window,

looking for beauty or the beast,

crumbled

onto the stone cold floor 

of the Capitol.

her blood etched a last message of disunity

and out of many, one,

with still-warm lips exhaling themes

of manifest destiny.