The Submission Dance
all votes are in and the counting is done
here we are down
on our wounded knees
things are neither dory nor hunky
they have seen the whites of our eyes
and they are firing
it will come to close quarters
and this time the gloves are off
it will proceed to no-orifice-barred fucking
and this time the condoms are off
their diseases and their seed
will putrefy from gestation
to generations yet unborn
time for our own Wovoka dance
our own ‘they-shoot-horses-don’t-they’ shuffle
whilst ghosts of our forgotten ancestors
vanish from our vanquished hour -
each Standing Rock becomes
another megalith in the broken circle:
hope is as habitable as Stonehenge.