Future Grotesque
Time’s solemn ache traverses freedom, drunk clowns and thugs seek obliteration. History ends, exculpation starts. Privacy sequestered in virtual weeds, conformity’s patriotic terror, ballooning misery narcotized once more again, always. Exculpatory explication’s naked hope, emboldened pleas, flounder: one by one . . . moon rising, the spirit quelled succumbs.