with a nod to WB Yeats . . .
Spinning and spinning in the widening web
The spiders cannot seize their prey;
The nation falls apart; the Constitution cannot hold;
civil war raises his magazombie rumble.
The rage-raised tide rises, and everywhere
this ceremony of Independence Day is dimmed.
The best lack common sense, while the worst
are full of insurrection intensity.
Don’t tell me some revolution is in the cards;
A second civil war’s not in our yards.
Civil War! hardly are those words out
when a dreaded sound of Sumter shots
troubles my mind; somewhere in the silence of Gettysburg
a shape with stars and bars and carnage’d fields
a rage as ragged as stars ’n stripes are torn
is cranking up its maga madness, snorting insurrection
while talking heads strive to stem the raging tide.
The darkness slithers in, but now I know
that a century and a half of stony sleep
are vexed to nightmare by a mocking maga
and what rough beast, its hour come round at last
slouches toward Sumter to be reborn?
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