I imagine Trump Sitting alone in his room. Trying to log in To his suspended Twitter account, asking “why Do bad things happen To good
Grief and heartache wracks Your chest, deepest tensions are Loosed, new light enters.
Sixteen hooves clatteredToward Pennsylvania Ave.,Sixteen hundred. Pale Rider approached theGolden king of fire, whoBowed his head and knelt. Weeping and gnashingHis teeth, he cried “at
From Shakespeare’s Macbeth: Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,To the last syllable of recorded time;And all our yesterdays
I want there to be A new numbering of the Years, so that it says, “Before me,” “after me.” I want to have changed the
Life is calling. I Hear it out there, beautiful And free. Resurgent.