The Compensatory Force of Nemesis

I’ve written enough small poetry to start a nuclear war. Do you want to die in traffic behind the wheel of your car? Or in yr rodeer camp next fall. Control eludes us. The hero loses urinary control, the unified nation loses missile control, lost my timepiece, lost my metronome, now my music is ethereal as an archangel’s. No owl hoots or duck quacks or squirrels screwing or spiders spanning rampikes. The floccinaucinihilipilification of nature. No greater tragedy than a tipping point that tests the hero’s gullibility, complicity, self-control, comity, sense of humor which is the only remedy not to hate those in authority. Them guys with guns at the Michigan state house, fat bearded tattooed pissed off white bros. Norsemen, Crusaders, Vikings, Britons. For despair there is no forgiveness. Peace out. Humor is the only remedy, or is ardor the best way forward. We’ll see how things work out in the next generation. The same diverse, spoiled, unpatriotic revolutionaries as at the nation’s beginning trying to reverse the future, making phone calls to get out the vote in Georgia, hating the desert for having no water. Nuclear mischief, mad Man’s most incandescent bloom and the devil who exists to carry the load when we misbehave and fight among ourselves. I wake up to my skin boiling off my bones. Events keep piling up, the future depends on ourselves. Conflict is inevitable and in this conflict power must be challenged by power so err on the side of patience, perseverance and impermanence.