Oh yes I know the crime!
How deep it sinks, how wide it winds.
I wonder only: is it theirs or only mine?
And should I resist? Or follow where it grinds?
It needn’t sin beyond itself.
A compatible sprite —
Some woman sound in health
but broken also where the Light
should shine clear and bright
where sex and gut meld
and love gets born, or dies
a lonely wanderer
An ox will fall. The flies
will swarm and pester her
tired glazing closing eyes.
And so she dies alone
upon furrows she’d plowed
she gasps, too weak to moan.
I’m not a hero. I’m not too proud
to say I need your help
if we could fit and you’re around
to say I need to whelp
this sickness that I have found.
Can’t we please draw it hence?
We who share the problem child?
And in every cuddle repent?
And together tame what makes us wild
and spooled out beyond our hearts and minds?
Be my little girl and see what we can find?
Meanwhile the country writhes.
Trump needs to be dictator for life
for his crimes not to pay.
No problem! That’s the plan, anyway!
How can so many fail to see
or choose to not admit
that prance and dance you and me
around the deep and stupid pit
where crime declares itself law
and everyone says they nothing saw
and nothing heard and with all their might
believe in the king, his holy claims, his sovereign rights.
A heart turns within itself
all over town in every town
countryside and cityscape