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States of the Union: Reflections from New Orleans
Late night pictures across the screen - Washed away truths look so pristine - While muddy waters drown where I have been - So let the songs support the trauma of our flight, as if a melody might make it right or exile’s sweetened with a trill of rhythmed bayous and a blues quadrille.
Our threnody of time must leave them out, all those too far to doubt, too near to fear to do much more than mouth the sounds of solace and, dopplering up despair, declare (babble, bubble, burp and broil cauldrons, lies, crud(e) and oil) Words in torrents like water drown and we, and they, for cover cast about, but we for souls and next-of-kin and they for ways to swamp and spin: The storm is echoed in the surge of lies, a carnival of masks that screen neglect, engulf the breach and blame reject.
Images overtopped or undermined, portrait promises, impotent disguise, reveal the flaws, the coast lines of our trust in battures raised in battles for our mind: let levees and the wetland marsh protect, but justice overflow, a mighty stream: betrayal flooded out - rebuild, redeem.
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