To choose to break down doors
of homes, of families—children inching
into life, seeds begun to bud—
to choose a gun these places, bodies
boomed in their beds, returning
to burn them in blankets; and others announcing
they're kill teams, shooting people crazy;
to urinate the dead—only a sport, they said.
Choosing burning books knowing scriptures
among them, like throwing Bibles to bonfires.
Like seeing her screams of tender flesh turn charcoal,
your bedroom, your dearest daughter
exploding in agony; your shining son
splotching blood on the wall by his fall.
Not, not by accident—choices and plans
by who these acts, these scenes?
Not American soldiers,
not American citizens,
not our earth of human beings,
not our animals' nobility.
Possession by devils, the acid
of evil, the searing leer of darkness.
"Investigation" outdone by the act,
Our only way is no delay, no legal
gray of glacial steps into the future.
A clear turn, our fingers
direct at our hearts and their slack
to devils, demons, all the rest of the black
exposed, declared, ripped out, replaced
—in summit vigilance from this hour on—
by love and truth and sacrifice to that.
Not talk, not wringing the hands of the mind,
but labor restoring our lost American hearts.