A March Poem by Ishion Hutchinson

Lesson of the day: Syria and Styria.
For Syria, read: His conquering banner shook from Syria.
And for Styria: Look at this harp of  blood, mapping.

Now I am tuned. I am going to go above
my voice for the sake of the forest shaken
on the bitumen. You can see stars in the skulls,

winking, synapses, intermittent, on edge
of shriek — perhaps a cluster of fir, birches? — 
Anyways. Don't get too hung up

on the terms; they have entropy
in common, bad for the public weal,
those obtuse centurions in the flare

of the bougainvillea, their patent-seeking
gift kindled. Divers speech. Cruelty.
Justice. Never mind, but do

pay attention to the skirmish — the white
panther that flitters up the pole — 
its shade grows large on the ground.