The Magick of Free Verse

If anything made any sense wh-
atsoever - for a split second - it wa-
s only in your head,
perhaps not even there

You alone think
we did not painfully endure your
flashy schemes and fiddly y-mes;
Fine for stolid times (that live
only inside your head by now)

New instances are entered at
every minute – you miss a step
and grind to a halt,
we are already there
breaking it down for your
butterteeth – too nice of us.

This is not a fantasy, you are feeling
deeply: but today’s cars
are automatic guns built to crash - land in trees
internet diseases erupt in nanoseconds
wartimes wither in dirt
you are no savior of your own.

(Beyond Tristan D'Agosta)