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


No, it won't be prairie dogs

lacquering bangs, or clove cigarettes

smoked in dens packed with owls quoting


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.