Going to Pot

The Communists are organizing grumbles.
The empire neophytes need lighthouses.

We’re singing the virile draftee ballads of gelding escapades—

While women with pinched noses file reports with the Stasi.
The expansionist neocolonialists have a mercantile exchange they’d like you to join.

I stopped caring, but continued counting…

We expect the worst because humanity always disappoints. We take pride in our overactive suspicions.

Make new cleric armholes in this cilice—
I like my hairshirts roomy.
We’ve had enough of athletic cuts and fitted styles—

We’re going to pot with abandon.

What I’m Reading:

“I sharpened knives
All night.
To welcome you
In the brilliance of their blades…”

— Radmila Lazić / “Love”