The dark is rising, but it always has
Been an upstart, just because
That’s what darkness does.
We have the horizon to focus on,
That way the high Beaufort
Won’t render us sick, again.
Grip your ice pick, prepare
To wrestle on the ice. Fittest
Survive, the rest get locked down
In the sinking feeling part of town.
Shoulder your Winchester,
We all require level action now,
Now that lever-repeating guns
Are everywhere. Smell the cinders
Blocking the daily air. Winter arrives
Like the apologetic ticket collector
Who 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. Reveal
Your shining scalpels, doctors
Of 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!