The buoys at sea that
Take the temperature of the world
Must be naïve, not having
Figured out that their
Their truths are lies —
Devil’s work —
Disbelieved, or so they say,
By Mr. Koch and the
Stable geniuses of the GOP.
When a morning
It calls so little attention to itself
That it astonishes us.
This is the way the world ends,
With the good ole boys all a-grin,
High on the meth of owning the libs,
Hoisting the standard of ignorance,
Locked and loaded with hollow points,
Charging the ramparts of decency.
I'm content not to try
To bend the frequencies
Of my lines to catch the
Of the moment.
The air a restless, chilly augury.
The sun a warming counterpoint.
Cusp of autumn near the Celtic sea.