a failure of communal spirit

A Failure of Communal Spirit

There was an actress who sang like a canary,

who's going to follow a leader who says

the storm didn’t just exist in this space, in this time.

No bumper stickers; no gun rack exhibiting love of

a moderately old puppy, or else a gold seal and watch-chain,

issued a single report to determine whether the substation

became wraith, became phantom, became a notion and a smudge

which was quite unusual for the time. Many farmers in the

strenuous scenes used to take place over questions of precedence

and the message remained one of restraint

not quite gone, through all the haze of sand and fog, the breath of wind

awash in sun and loud music. “How do you know?”

A few cuts across the back of a kind which at least had

mounted the stationary cycle, and proceeded to burn through

baited steel-jawed traps. They starved us out. They burned us alive.

“You remember what those dudes look like?”

Manner appears one of cloying docility but

around their roots could be seen the blue iris and

view the expanse of the awfulness like a king surveying

a lyrical music that came out of its ugly grouper-esque mouth.