Monday is the cruelest day, bleeding
Drivers onto the highways, merging
Lassitude with road rage, blending
Exhaust with heat shimmers.
Carbon keeps us cool, blocking
The sun with mirrored clouds, dimming
A warming globe with particulates.
Campaigns bored us, coming down to the Florida Keys
With their hanging chads; we marched on the Capitol,
And forged on in darkness, into Afghanistan,
And drank Starbucks, and ignored the false intel.
-
And when we are seniors, waiting at the rest home,
Orderlies will put us in our beds,
And we'll feel safe.  They think, Grandma,
Grandpa, just let go.  And up we'll fly.
In the suburbs, there you feel trapped.
I game, much of the night, and dress up for Comic-Con.

08/09/2008

Author's Note: Alas, this project has not been forgotten, but it's a bit daunting and takes a massive amount of creative energy. I've been working away and knocking out small sections at a time, but none are ready to be posted as yet.

Posted on 08/09/2008
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