How does one cope
in the middle of apocalypse,
democracy embers sending up
small gasps for air
in a place where fantasy is science
and math is debatable,
willed by the people.
Their power used as a shield
to deflect all intelect
and even common decency.
Rioting for nothing
but selfies and vandalism
and the behest of the richest
boy in middle school.
What is the answer of how to
take lawlessness, based on
illogic, and show powerful caring
while staunchly in quarantine?
Where are the answers for what we tell
the children, who ask why, demand proof
and those responsible do not?
There must be a cabin, far into
the wilderness, where the stillness
of the winter air and the lullabies
of mother owls ease our souls to safety.
And the endless noise, bringing anger
and anxiety through the channels
of information just ceases to exist.
The apocalpyse pauses.
To rebuild those synapses,
and empty the soul of
the toxicity compounded.
Waiting for spring.
Waiting for spring.
