The National Bird
six hours from sunset,
the national bird
waits for us to sip the water,
waits to see who plays the game,
who obliges us to drink from the well,
who owns the sky, whose life
is lost because someone knew?
who controls the cloud, the flow,
the lost eagle’s data?
who owns these skies? whose side
flocks? not a bird in sight, three
turkeys of falconry emerge;
two in the bush, one in hand
the national bird,
six hours from sunset
bombs over there, over there.
goes status quo! doom
triggered, happy operatives shake
inside black curtained video cubicles.
in the darkrooms of faraway lands–
of civilian, of enemy agents, of friendlies;
unmanned drone warfare plan
is manned on whose authority?
map immigrants, map fleeing refugees,
map homeless, map borders, map homicides,
robot drone crime fighters
and privacy eaters from the wreckage
six hours from sunset,
the national bird
rises low over oceans almost extinct
gaming theory in Nash equilibrium,
pods of orcas fight off whales
map droning the shoreline,
tow the line and sail...
above large luxury real estate,
a compound closed on the tell
as the crow flies. drones fly
albatrossing the condors
above the endless pool and palms fool
shadows on roof tiles
sparkle behind white stone walls,
caged and gated in a version of free
six hours from sunset,
the national bird
scatters calls to take flight, gone nova!
exploding firestorm,
entirely accurate skyfire rains down
dropping in above the mountains,
scorched earth smokejumpers
control burn the barn down,
peeping drone in our airspace
chases Bucephalus from the firefight.
hover over here, over here
the roundup of apocalyptic horses
gathers door to door benefits
delivering packages at a sacrifice,
tracking the satellite gaze
intense, as in metamorphic
eyes under the sturgeon moon
might even mark a prominent demarcation,
a point of no return. drone, drone, drone,
crash control air traffic; all at the mercy of the user's' hands
six hours from sunset,
the national bird...
