La Cuba Libre

When the poetry of despotic
Collectivism dissipates in angered
Armed thru' the decision
Of Empire, then a
Vestige of absolutism
Clings feverishly
To the demise of
Old Orders.

We have words
For it now and we do not
Use them.

The blurring
Loveliness of a divulged sun,
Alighting Havana. How poets
Have dreamt of South and Islands
But not to dream the words
We once did not

Backwards---except in the
Extreme Case-of-Things, and
Every flash of not-quite-
Acceptance equates to a
Multiplied dawn. Once there
Was Fear. Now, only
Ridicule and in the
Malarial-tinted feverish
Wars of conquest
Something was forged.

O Cuba!
Now that Stalin
And Khrushchev have
Surrendered themselves to the odium
Of Past and in
Every derogatory sense the
Civilized anger sneers down at

Your island, back to
A broken wall, the graffiti and
Cut stones drawing

Viva la Cuba libre!

But to what

The heaviness of remaining dawns,
The bravery of tyranny. The age
Of Broad-brushed conquest is long