There’s no question
to it. This monster has been let free
to roam. This tyrant
is the mouldering beast
slouching toward oilmoneypapers.
Seeping drugged and beyond
reproach. The graves have already
been upheaved. The senators
don’t mind as long as it benefits
their oiled lifelines; they’ve gone
day-glo orange in the wreckage
of the meds that keep the mind-
destroying insects at bay.
But we are bobbing out there
in piquing swells. Sailing in the
tangled soakflood of acrylics, poly
esters, silicones, polyurethanes
halogenated plastics. A too-bright
mass of destroyers wait for the
sun to expand from its hold.
There’s no question we’ll go.
The senators don’t believe
in anything other than oil.
Pluck their thick thumbing
mass of payment from the
fading hairline of their
gone youth. What do they
care for the future of an
other?
A sea of belief can be
ossified by coal and by slick oil
on darting tongues. The sea is pressed
into thickness; the atmosphere
does not revolve down
here in the oblivion of revolt.
There’s no question we may all
dissolve.
