we make the land to break it later
cut up between flags and maps
drifts of language
points of thought caught
in the net of where
and the confusion of what
and the mystery of why
translations can come to late
for arbiters of the state of hate
they’re not talking the same language
and language becomes a sticking point
dictionaries become important
thesauruses become rare
except for lawyers
who make language a prison
we haven’t landed in ourselves always
before we become a country
before we talk of the idea
and live it
and then we want to live in one direction
and tell everyone else it’s the only way
babel buried under pennants
and language lost defendants