carcasses stacked high this side of the Rio Grande

to form a wall of rotted onyx meant to dissuade

all human aspiration:        the flies are all that want

them now         not even their own nations willing

to serve them as lord        of hosts we know nothing

the old traditions: to break bread with brethren

unknown, strangers      we’ll call them           names

we give them       call them         what we wish because

then it’s easier          to let them              die let them

be savaged        it is easier this way for everyone

to give them new names          better still, numbers

sometimes it’s just hard to call them what they want

use their names, their language       it is better

to split them apart // split them apart // split them apart