Empire Upstairs

Sunday, February 2, 2025

The Empire Upstairs (a poetic reflection)

A history of war is a history of industry. A history of industry is a history of power. This is not new, nor is it distant—it is codified, automated, and ongoing. This is a poetic reflection, not a revelation.

There’s nothing more American than weapons manufacturing,
and the Second Amendment is a codified industry.
Both for the people and their predator drones,
the pinnacle of weaponized technology.

To become death, and to fund it—
to profit from that last bomb,
the bullet in its casing,
a legal export into a chamber,
from a hand, a heart,
dead and following orders.

The Oppenheimer of history echoes
in all the innovation we have for weaponry.
Here’s to violence, to Gomorrah,
and the peace we’ve found
on the elite side of war.

The sword systems and Gatling wielders,
like wizards but with implements,
spinning barrels over and over again,
a cyclone of lead, of molten teeth,
meant to secure a brighter future—
for our five, over here.

Fire chews through muscle,
jets scream across the body of the earth,
the air cracks, flashbombs bloom—
a world briefly reduced
to a frozen, white silhouette.

Tactically trained—
the invasion,
the empire upstairs,
watching through satellites,
hands clean, voices clear.

I don’t write this to push an agenda or argue politics—I really don’t have the energy for that. I just think about these things. The structures we live under, the things we normalize, the strange contradictions built into everyday life. That’s where my head goes. Take it or leave it. Peace, friends.