Deviants Poem by Anthony Weir

In just one respect they tend to deviate.
In other ways they earnestly collaborate,
conform depressingly.
The same is true of dissidents and poets.

Almost every day I feel that I'm
the only person who's awake,
while other people are sleepwalking
the world to nightmare:
the long, bad time for poetry
now born of its dung.

The trickle of blood is time
('O ancient, crimson curse! ')
Surviving birth was my third crime.

Although the 'Nuclear Winter'
would have been the gentler way
to kill the world we fundamentally resent,
the Bible-blood of history
and very recent history has shown
that war is justifiable
only to unreason and testosterone.