MIDTERM ELEGY

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We’ve a readymade art chattering in our teeth,
Arranging a dainty battle hymn to chant and howl
Like beasts in a cave.

We must manage to seize our exhausted throats
And find the pale cord that binds our hand
To tyranny’s slave.

We must slice away tender flesh to free ourselves
Of this creature of our most casual weakness;
Safety before liberty.

We’ve but little time to right this maddening plunge
Else the noise next we will hear shall be that of
The country’s elegy.