Empire Crumble Cake: a recipe
Pissed that you missed / my explicit wishes to / cease chasing opinions / and conserve energy
Energy for the war, I mean, / referenced by you, / in this time of coup
I need quiet time to / gird my loins, / sharpen pencils, et / cetera, et / cetera
my old family recipe for pandemic
One might think / I need to press my talents / to the bloody front / or my pen is not worth
the paper it scribbles on. / that some how art / requires utility / weaponized
Yet / here you are / with your fully loaded / mouth, sniping rapid fire / opinions at my generals
and direction / friendly fire perhaps / damaging still / opinions
Had I assembled all the facts / right, left, and center, and / lined them up like soldiers,
there still exist the / unruly band of dissidents / waving flags of dissonance
cognitive and otherwise. Indisputable facts, my ass.
It has been said that / one needs to choose / a side. Right or wrong. / Pro or con. Black or white.
And I may say the choice / is between war and / peace. And I’m choosing / peace. And quiet.
Herewith I remind / that I mentioned, early on, / that I am near deathly / sick of my very own opinion
/ even / as well. The drums, the gunfire / the bloody screaming / friendly fire perhaps / damaging still
And you, you, are making far / too much noise and / your location has been / compromised.
I’m ordering a detachment of my detachment / a seal team of troops / to bivouac / deep in the thicket of /
your curious imagination
Listen for my camp tune; a reveille,
a revelry of reverie.
Whisper with me.
Time to cut the horses loose / and ride higher / launching biochemical offensives / of oxytocin, serotonin, dopamine /
so that it reeks of love / joy / and wonder so thick / and heavy that / even moving / moves carefully
We will dance together on Smoke Signal Rock and watch the facade of empire crumble.
There will be cake.
© 2021 David L White
Saturday morning poem