Kitchen

I’ve
Begun
To wonder
Again, in spite
Of propaganda,
Stunning political
Hyperbole, funding a
Currency of spite and diet
Cloaks; in spite of old oaks
Retreating beyond
The line of sight
To bed down
For the
Night
Beside
A wall of
Really great, the
Best, so tremendous;
In spite of endless skies
Cascading before my eyes
In light that bends but never dies;
In spite of all that rends the
Belly of the fates, the
Pen that concentrates
Alternative
Facts into
Ratings.
In
Winter
I bring out
Songs to help us
Remember. I sing
Out loud to hush embers
Of rust and other things that
No one needs. I trust sinners to
Crush the hand that feeds and
Deflates. I retire
To my kitchen,
Where I find
Fire, and
Bake.

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