… sittin’ on the dock of the bay
Watchin’ the tide roll away . . .
(Otis Redding & Steve Cropper)
We’re sitting on splinters,
watching and whistling
as the world falls apart.
As if all we have to do is
bide our time until the
next tide rolls in to
cleanse our consciences.
As if the rats would be content
to stick to the sewers.
To swear off their squeaks
for the good
of the hoi polio.
For the grand old myth
of Mother Earth.



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