decided not to give me the Nobel Peace
Prize for having stopped 8 Wars PLUS,
conclude, henceforth, that peace? Superfluous.
Dead as doornail. Short as summer’s lease.
Folly. Fashion. Whimsy. Mere caprice.
One wants what wasn’t ever offered; thus
breaks up the band: there is no aye in us,
nor no in you—what right have you to fleece
the shearing shepherd, has and is the crook,
of what his heart desires, nearing death,
the yawning arctic dark of dreamlessness,
inert, unbeen, unbothered, very bored—
neither TV news nor shibboleth;
and so demand, before bed, acquiesce:
every glacier, lichen, stone, fjord.