After seeing the morning light
through three motel room windows
the dog came out, trained by a member
of the Select Committee to Keep Me
From Doing Anything But Writing Poetry,
and in that morning blight, the red and yellow haze,
degenerated all of mankind
into a dumbed down Cromagnon electric gun,
that, blossoming into Cambridge Analytica,
into access to too much information,
imagined itself into a slick of lies,
And just as fast, although less permanent,
in the corner of my eye, the painful strain of the deep,
caught up with conversation with the Russian ambassador,
who sent a secret heiress donation for the Grand Old Party
and the NRA's unpleasant grip on the dominion of sin quaked, rattled, rolled and water vapor seeped up, toward the surface,
from underground and flowers, and idiocy was born,
it had a face and a name and an opaque plan to rule,
and then, booming louder, we all got younger,
and the wind softened and the internet sent sex sighs
into the fog, thus metastasizing its own enemy: truth
