OCTOBER POEMThe dark is rising, but it always hasBeen an upstart, just becauseThat’s what darkness does.We have the horizon to focus on,That way the high BeaufortWon’t render us sick, again.Grip your ice pick, prepareTo wrestle on the ice. FittestSurvive, the rest get locked downIn the sinking feeling part of town.Shoulder your Winchester,We all require level action now,Now that lever-repeating gunsAre everywhere. Smell the cindersBlocking the daily air. Winter arrivesLike the apologetic ticket collectorWho knows you don’t carry one,Will have to nudge you off the train.Let’s face it, you’ll hold on,Somehow, tethered to the caboose,With a leather noose. RevealYour shining scalpels, doctorsOf the new strange constraints,Begin to cut and tear at what’s wrong;It’s never light, and the money’s gone,But there’s more of us than them,And we can sort of hum Shelley’s songs.Strap those masques on, Anarchies!
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