Now it's my turn to sit in a dive,
Wicked smoke clinging to my thumbs,
Drowsing beats of aging drums,
Spilled alcohol soaking wasted ash,
Two rats nibbling at the mounting trash.
Bourbon refracts differently than gin,
Clashing voices stir the unhealthy din.
Your voice did not undo the folded lie:
The open question is simply why:
You foolishly claimed there is no state.
Before such bold claims, let’s hesitate.
Your courage cooled your simmering rage,
As walking evils stalked the darkened stage.
Your fight became an affirming flame,
Who dares today to do the same?
Poets gather; an impassioned team,
Slurring words now fill our dreams,
Saturated with tender thoughts of you,
A wasted poet, you brooded too.
Discordant music disturbs my reverie,
A silent madrigal is a curious song.
The soft light radiates a gentle hue,
A thin man coughs and I cough too,
Awakening to the dishonest decade,
Grown dingy, grown dark.
The public has abandoned, what all school children learn,
The reasons have become, a source of grave concern.
Feeble dignity, diminished at birth,
Imagines his arrival equates to his worth.
The son is freed from a loveless womb,
As warm and embracing as an icy cold tomb,
To share his brilliance and his cunning too,
Until justice arrives to collect its just due.
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