Politics
In prose
Thousands of voices, I hear calling out,
“Doubt — despair — strife all about.”
Answered in turn,
Alternative routes.
Between them,
Increasingly,
Cracks in the grout.
We all see them forming.
Your torment within,
To not see in others, a cardinal sin.
Empathic and sturdy,
One must commit.
Lending your ear,
Spare any dissent.
Regardless of which world you wish to forment,
To rebuild this wall,
We’ll need more cement.
Go ahead, shirk my attempted advice.
Whine and mark prose an improper device.
Puff out your chest — an obvious vice.
And, oh, by the way…
Go fuck yourself I.C.E.
Twice.
This poem is dedicated to Minna Ilse Kast.
Fuck the weak of mind and spirit. Fuck pseudointellectual incels. Fuck ethnonationalist paramilitaries. Keep fighting the good fight.