My country is flame: red discoes on the edges
of chessboards of chiseled wood & vanilla.
Near the borders, waves waver man,
gods, & animals—monsters disguised
ginger fangs—venom, sharp as nail piercing—
wearing bibs as they chew wind.
If you would set aside gold & withhold nil
we would have cures, not roars, for dinner;
if you would heed rather than grind molars,
we would have parity, not inequity, for dinner;
we would, as we eat together, move the pawns,
& we would eat the wind, smother flame, & soar.