fatigue is
my raincoat   it’s been
a wet spring
sending a
flood of synthetic dancers
politicians and

heretics
raining down   shoddy
counterfeit
coins pour from
hell’s own slot machine into
the lap of the world

this is a
near miss comedy
a picnic
of nothing
but yesterday’s cold coffee
and raw injustice

all bridges
burnt   windows nailed shut
strings pulled tight
our one brief
opportunity squandered
in petty squabbles

   when hunters
the dark efficient
shepherds of
the order
emerge from the wood armed with
the cross and the sword

   i flirt with
the thought of being
a hero
but there will
be no medals awarded
for speaking truth now