(Poetry) States as Headed

 Wirndzerem G. Barfee

I have opiated tribes
With a decadent patience,
I have ankylosized the machine
With a leaden inertia:
Everything is still.
I concoct the ferment of a windless night,
Everything is silent.
The painting of a sepulchered choir,
Everyone is quiet.
The waiting of a reign’s requiem,
Is it?

I have stuffed throats 
With banquets of bootied fortune,
I have filled windpipes
With fountains of exotic champagne,
I have bargained and bought silence
With the plunder of a cabal:

Everywhere is empty.
The rust of hollowed safe,
Everywhere is sand.
The absence of gardens,
Every scent is devalued…

And whose child still waits
For germinating seed on these hard-caked rocks?
Everyone is poor.
The blisters of empty hands
That fill your insatiable hands,
Isn’t it?

A river that has drained all tributaries,
Can I deny an answer?
A sea that has swelled with all the rivers
Can I deny an answer?
A tree that has seized all other branches
Can I deny an answer?
A sun that has out burned the constellation
Can I deny an answer?
A power that has swallowed all other powers
Can I deny the sins of my dominions?