March of the Greenbacks

Dollar bills march along oblivion’s precipice.
Lemmings follow skulking greenbacks to
The abyss, where letters and number—
G5, G8, IMF—Bingo!…and a spate of hate
Fall hellbent to mordent lakes that envelop us.

The bleak and darkened sky cries out,
Expels the filth of inhuman folly
Set against “alternative facts” jolly.
Oil spills, like blood from arid crevices,
Grease overstuffed pockets of ignoramuses

Viruses consume their brains,
Turn inside out the remains of hearts,
Deride the sage words of youth,
And punctuate conclusions with farts,
All while ice sheets overflow the drains.

And the refrain, “It’s a hoax,”
“We have the cleanest air,”
Sounds the cognitive dissonant note,
Which gathers in the mote of though bridled,
And spawns generations of thinkers idled.

Time no longer exists.
It leaves our world with a whimper
While falsehood apologists simper.
Perhaps their tune will change soon
Once we row down 2nd Avenue.

—Robert Hieger
December 25, 2019

About the author: Robert Hieger

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