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this fiction of mine laboured tightly in the skull of memories and mysteries worked to the wheel by furies who deal the willing thread in...

Thursday, March 21, 2013

found at the bottom of my drawers (bearing out for Guayaquile)

this pronunciamento is simply to assert a sum
of truths self evident transparent that show our nature
now minus the two hundred year wraps woven to disguise
our history and ourselves with constants which wreathe us
direct in line with troy and the western classics positively
we have formed in earnest sublime ideas for auld lang syne
and declared ourselves victims of mother spain from the find
and conquest until eighteenten when cut from the mater land
we became selfindulgent with ideals reaching  far beyond
our white mountain peaks to a rubble heap left by greeks
in anatolia and there we place ourselves in illion our beloved
beginnings and abeyance for we have not glorious tales
it’s all haze to tell well we fixed that and if someone tells
the truth about our lore he’s branded traitor on the spot
while heroes are who contribute to the lie it’s old history
and it could be from anywhere thirst for royal dirt is sound
no matter if civil war or independence call call it anything
repeat an axiom or makeshift a brand call it a revolution
and start spinning heads with blabber twisting dope
let’s get this right most of the population was not represented
blacks indians mestizos and most whites did not care a bit
the whip changed hands to the descendants and heirs to priam
along with the seized privileges which now had a republican
aura full with blazon colors and song they declared themselves
fathers of the land and presented the many with a clear view
of a chief tall with a bogus name lance in hand and his main
wife bogus two genuflected at his side with heir apparent
in arms proud ancestors of a lost paradise to atone and further
confuse the fuckin natives cause that story wasn’t in their folk
‘tis so

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