“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.” ― Howard Zinn

The Canary not        American plumped          wings plummeted perched to speak 

mended shut with barbwire       from a world              who would rather   

slit the black                birds throat and           tear out one of the Canaries bird

Box                               than to admit guilt                      to the shameless slaughtering

“detox”. All         sounds songs                     souls mimicked the monotonous

melodious feigning         of a falsified nation      who trapped the migrant 

birds who dare travel                             across the borders             stole 

their eggs              hovering hatching             birthing them as their own Dam

ned creations                     eggs mothered by a land                         who could never sorrow

their sadness.                       Oh Great Green pheasant                             the duped enemy 

dumped in “cages” scattered  around   dusted dried                   deserted          

desert ground              Oh how I hear your cawing             in the cebrals     of 

my mind.              The mighty thunderbird supernatural                  suffers a wobbled

wounded knee.       A massacre   masqueraded in the           bellowing buzzing    

battle Trumpets     that provided   the beat that bathed the                     birds, in blood of mass 

Extinction.   The american canary                    with yellowed patriotic blissness       sings the 

melodious                                    falsities of a nation borne from                             Silence                                                                              

being forced                              down the beaks of every bird           who wasn’t feathered                                              

in the purity of                                                                                                                          white.

I wrote this poem last year to speak upon the way that America handles its “problems” or rather the people it wishes not to have inside it’s country. The poem represents the Indians and indegenous people that we slaughtered, the immigrants that we have stereotyped and the Japenses Americans we unjustly imprisoned during WWII. We are a land that was built on the blood and enslavement of others. This is never more evident than looking at the diary of Christopher Columbus. It makes you question what we find ethical in the name of success and conquest?