The Polytheist

Every time a poet does this, they risk quitting forever.
Darla Whitehead, The Book of Warnings




In the most Oriental chapters of chaos
are the great portals of time, the backwards
and forwards of speech are opened, closed
bang bang bang, interpretation in the breezes.
The dietary is shared with disaster
in the pigment of newsprint and rally.
Who bothers about the senate anymore
when each thing branches into a hundred more,
a very long history of policy is the groundwork
for a mudslide in a mileau of plunder.
There isn't a quick fix for this, there isn't
a new order. There is this right now
in the revocation of prairies, that haze.
Your God and mine. That makes two.
The future isn't written in Latin anymore.