Caught in a beam of morning sun,
massive transitions are going on,
each nation and each generation
vying for who will take possession
of the Hotel Anxiety
Making up facts and assaulting truth are hallmarks of the Trump cult.
Sweet friend, hear me. There will always be trouble.
as if death had lit a pale light
in your flesh, your flesh
was cold to my touch, or not cold
but cool, cooling
What does it mean to live in the plague – every day, across generations and without an exit strategy?