This is your body, all yours:
your fingers that touch your lips
are yours, as is the hollow of your throat
and your ribs, a musical instrument
that holds your soul, a bone
and sinew xylophone that sings
your music, and only yours.
This blood and water are yours
and only yours until you choose
to share it with the earth.
No nation-state through accident
of birth deserves ownership
of your breast, your hands,
your breath and your loins,
your blood, your spirit, your heart.
Salute no flags save the flag
of your own devise, the rainbow,
the red or the white, or the perfect
black flag of freedom.
An accidental state imprisons you
at the moment of your birth.
Its rules do not benefit you.
They are to be subverted.
Its laws are not for you;
they are for the wealthiest among us;
they exist to keep us indentured,
voluntary slaves swaddled
in the uniform of desire.
Its stories are not for you.
Its stories are lies, duct tape
over your lips, a mask
over your eyes, a hood
over your head, handcuffs
around your wrists.
You must lift the hood around your head.
You must loose the cuffs around your wrists.
And you will make music.
You will make music with the drum
of your heart and the trumpet
of your breath. You will grow
a new world from the water
of your loins and the whisper
of your lips.
You will set me free
after you free yourself.