Creator Colonial - By JLG Clift

i walk on water
i walk on land
stand in every
texture, my foot
prints have soiled every
plate of food for
my young
my pure, my future

colonials

i walk
in

thunder clouds

they call

me white

lightning

but i have
so many

names

i let my future strike
like 9
tales of my power
dart from the mouth of the
wise to the children
their gods

know my

chil
dren's

sec
rets

but no one wants to listen
as they first arrive, with gifts

May

we

Flower

in the dawn of the new world

my children's leather
feet
are mistaken for
hooves
in the prints they make
as they bring clothes,
and concepts
and language
and friendship

and pity

and arrogance

and alcohol

and industry

and sickness

to noble savages
cannon fodder to the history of
U.S
to be reserved in huts
as we build around them
a reserved warning,
stilted in time
of why

my children are
so great

of why i am,
so great

but the first time
none of this happens
my colony
my message
and me
we sit with the
native sheep that grazed
the Plains where they saved
us from what should have
'been out in the cold;
too long; we are lost children'
we told them

lies

all

lies

they trusted like Good animals do
and now i shake
hands with the chief
and his wife

i like his headdress
like the blood red feathers and the tear blue beads
it is sacred to him
it will be on a carton of cigarettes
in years to come

good old

Natural Americans

their Spirits are mine

feel her flesh, warm, she feels like sunrise
silken palms
are crushed between my ice white

Callas

hands
in greetings

at the start of
the
first thanksgiving

they are sitting down to eat
our poisoned traditions
and my children, my colony, will be
sitting alone in years to come

they won't be here
they will be in
holes,
sacred to them
sacred to us
until our pity gives way
and we need

new land to build on

a man sits now,
hair thinned, white, sagging skin tanned like leather
beneath a tailored suit
and power
tie loosened in anticipation
of a Sunday roast
slaved over by black
shadows in white aprons
four hours
eaten in minutes over
scraping forks and
pop culture quotations

no thanks

look like a working man
but his hands are smooth
he hasn't worked
ever
because he is my colonial
and i love him

i gave him land
oil
money

he gives me a war,
he gives me a massacre
influence

god bless GW

I'm not god
but that is

one

of my names