No poetry in the Inauguration—
Words meant to dance with hope and healing
Fall short of lifting souls from the noise of hate,
Drowned in the dissonance of yesterday’s wounds.
What do we mean when we say good morning?
We are more than electric sockets,
Receiving and disbursing the electrons,
We have dreams,
Songs to march into a rising light.
A hollow salute to elevate the nation,
Recreating the historical blind spots—
Throwing away the inherited batons,
Amplifying old scars
With the gilded bullhorns.
What do we really mean when we say good morning?
Is this a “new day” unchained from last night?
Or an untamed storm,
Hate reborn from a bruised mind,
A child of test tubes, tangled and unruly.
Good morning again–here and hear–
No one man halts the sun’s arch across the sky.
Ring of Fire 
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