Septicemia knows no political party

The relentless morning call dives deep,
coming up with forced regrets and diminished futures.
At rest lay the tragic foundation
of a decaying culture,
drowning in sensual pleasures
in an embarrassing attempt at contentment.

Whole lives fritter away
in musty boxes,
taking pills and cheap lunches,
those soon to meet the same calls
chase after more to consume.

The inevitable isn’t inevitable,
just as the ghosts will never leave,
but being a party to this party
disables the roots,
leaving us forever floating and grasping for more.
– June 2, 2024

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