The Submission Dance

all votes are in and the counting is done

here we are down 

                    on our wounded knees

things are neither dory nor hunky

                    they have seen the whites of our eyes

and they are firing

it will come to close quarters

                    and this time the gloves are off

it will proceed to no-orifice-barred fucking

                    and this time the condoms are off

their diseases and their seed

will putrefy from gestation 

to generations yet unborn

time for our own Wovoka dance

our own ‘they-shoot-horses-don’t-they’ shuffle

whilst ghosts of our forgotten ancestors

vanish from our vanquished hour -

each Standing Rock becomes

another megalith in the broken circle:

hope is as habitable as Stonehenge.