|God’s Five-Fingered Hand, American|
by Julian X  /  poetry  /  5 Oct 2007
This country, built by rail, backed by steel,
its hours, when men still judged noon as apex
of the sun, forged to keep trains from colliding
and dollars flowing while the immigrants,
packed in boxcar crates, drove the nails.
Christ, too, was nailed, long after pharaohs
drove themselves into the starry heavens,
greeted by Orion, with star offset,
ensuring eternal life through the power
of Osiris, resurrection god before the thorns.
Hail happy Coincidence, which brought
dread Christophe into our reedy shores,
and broke the back of empires, none less
than his own, as colonies slain upon a
continent grew mightier than momma.
Hair Error, fortunate accident, which made
him reconsider that circumference,
estimated by Greeks, upon whom fortuna smiled
when their papyrus Arabs preserved,
which they alone could subtract to zero.
Had only this dread fear forsaken
my tiny mortal frame, some immortality
might well have accrued in some Swiss bank,
and usura would not have swept
these days, timid, unto the sea.
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