Called the cruelest month
By a quirky twentieth century poet
April is also home to many spiritual observances
A dicotomy that preserves
The best and the unseen
Worst of our republic

Search the stacks in vain
For a balanced and reliable
Account of our nation’s affairs
Liability is limited
Arbitration arranged
And we feel the honeysuckle breeze
Blowing us back to the plantation

Indentured – called on as a cog
In a larger con
Servitude in service to a flat
Plastic brand

The fragile narcissus blossoms
Though only for a while
Its season short as it sucks
The shared resources dry
Leaving a vapid legacy
That promotes a product
Which does nothing though
It serves as a proxy
For the flatness of material



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