STORMY

 

 

It could be Climate Change
or a changing of the guard,
an East Coast winter without end—

a sky full of harbingers,
floating clips of recycled news
fishing for the self-righteous

with seasoned bits of drama.
In one hand we hold Chekhov’s
mirror on our modern world.

Or are the clouds obfuscation,
each changing shape
of our imagination: our addiction?

 

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