Sound the bells of Assisi.
The revolution won't be
pasted on Facebook,
or taste like azure margaritas
and blue corn chips.
The revolution won't be
downloaded toYoutube,
or Dolby like Blu-ray
zombie rats feeding.
No elfin hippies toking
low rider paraphernalia.
No Wild West Middle East
winter shootout clearance sale
on homeless shelter heads.
Chime the bells of Assisi.
The revolution won't be
Instagrammed Snapchat photos
of a portal selling your grandparent's
cosmology.
No, it won't be prairie dogs
lacquering bangs, or clove cigarettes
smoked in dens packed with owls quoting
Ginsberg.
This is the revolution:
A cougar's in the driver seat
and she needs a new watch.
So peal the bells of Assisi.
La Llorona is drunk with Zozobra,
moaning and wailing all night,
La Reina de La Fiesta serpentines
while the miraculous staircase unwinds,
Kateri's blood of the martyrs soothes
feet that Onate chopped off,
La Conquistadora does the Macarena
and covets the love of Po'pay.
Rock the bells of Assisi.
The revolution won't be
fringe and feathered sinners
dragging turquoise needle point crosses
to a descanso in Chimayo.
The revolution won't be Twittered, Skyped,
poked, liked,
promoted or shared
with your Paula Dean botulism network.
Trust me, brothers and sisters
The revolution won't be
gynarchy cast in deception
blasting Hannah Montana
to castaway children
in mandatory welfare
yo' mamma don't care
corporative health care beds.
Doug Bootes is an artist, writer and father of two amazing daughters. Calling New Mexico home for fifteen years, he's studying creative writing at Santa Fe Community College and is art editor for the Santa Fe Literary Review.
