Things get old and fall apart. My own
Body tells me that, so does so much
That I see, as superannuated ciphers,
Halt and bent, and mostly idle, rage
Against modernity. They celebrate
An addled fool who they believe can,
Somehow, make them what they used
To be: presumptive masters of a world
Which has passed away. Their forces
Roam the planet bearing weapons
Which no longer work, pretending that
They have the means to overcome
An adversary which produces half
Of what is used to make those faulty
Arms. Teachers aren't allowed to teach,
As doing so would give the children
Knowledge of unpleasant facts.
Books are burned, though prisons
Thrive. So much money goes to them,
And cops and troops, all of it borrowed,
That the roads and sewers fall apart,
While our debts rocket higher. In my
Mirror, I can't help but see the symptoms
Of decay. From my window, I observe
The same.