Brink 

Words like moron
eat your power
punching holes through
your endless sense of
grandiosity.

Preening your ingenuous
feathers,
you swirl distractions against
your inner collapse,
indignity in tow,
charging over roads
showing us who’s boss.

Your struggle creates
a mystery game,
dangling divinations
as calm before storms.

American spirit lists
as invisible fringes muster
in dissipation
of your work against
the nation.

“Time will tell,”
you say.
“You’ll find out.”

At night
even the stars sigh
overwhelmed
by the collapse your dark portends.

@bwarren

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