It’s a cold, bitter day in this hell of a land,
Reminiscent of Hitchcock and horror by noon.
It’s a day to keep cover and stay tucked inside.
Has the weather transformed due to withering pride?
As the Shift becomes Planck Time, it seems there’s no ‘soon.’
How this cold came upon me I should understand.
Constitutional crisis? Another blood bath?
It’s a day unremarkable given the state
Of the battle-worn psyche. I know how to feel.
To digest the reality of a raw deal
Is to be fed by duty to rectify fate.
What came first is the demon – not the psychopath.
I can swear it’s a bad day for no one but me.
I could say it’s a good day. It’s all just the same
As if all days were stardust of minuscule mass.
‘Such a headache to ponder what may come to pass.
I have faith in my country and shiver in shame.
I am chilled to the decrement of each degree.