poetry in times

I was reading up on headlines
that would become
newspaper cut outs for
a poem.

Gold’s value
down a quarter, people railing against
a new world order.

Presidents playing
God and the whole
vice versa.

Yeah, my tired eyes have searched up
and down a fossil

to make these
rhymes operable, however
awful their sources be;

foreign policy
furnishing
a burning house,

vacating the couch as
flames lick drapes.

(Also see
engineered illness
and the
fratricides of
city states.)

Auto tuned divides our ears have
learned to appreciate;

yeah, so
long I’ve
not been fazed by

these
scissors because I thought
scars led to a brighter place.

But the
weight
of
each
cut bears
down on
both
shears
now,

my
mark
on this world
another nick in

a canvas of proud misery,

a future contradictory to its
founding dream.

Who knows where
we’d be if I’d chosen to cut out my
own
words instead?

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2 thoughts on “poetry in times

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