Weekly feature by: Gary Duehr

All that is solid melts into air,
Says Marx, Karl not Groucho. Everywhere
A brand of fear
Stamps itself on faces: on the bus, in a rear-view mirror,
Poring over a café menu
Or into the ice cubes of a vodka tonic. When you
Consider all that’s happened since,
Anxiousness makes sense. Time to wince
As billionaires punch the Up button
That takes them to the Tower’s top floor. What’s been done
Can be undone, the arc of history
Can be bent backwards until it hurts, until this story
Ends unhappily: no hugs, no lessons.
Only open lesions
As the country tears itself apart.
The final tally’s done. All those in favor of an open heart
Say Nay; the Ayes
Have it. Say yes to a world where big lies
Become our daily bread.
Say yes to letting the living dead
Rise again to walk among us; we’re their feast.
We’re their host, their yeast.
A toast to the old guy, raise a glass.
For whosoever’s first among us, it’s a gas gas gas.

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