Welcome To The Madhouse, Kids (Written June,2016) Poem by Jenny Kalahar

Stuck here
where the air is not good, not good, not
I breathily imagine oxygen untainted
with the perfume of crazy
with the odor of temptations peculiar to the egocentric
and I imagine life when elections lie slumped behind us
in the damp cellars of twenty-sixteen

Will these continents, sick with political diarrhea
sick with prejudice and greed
sick with poisonous water and rebellion:
will these countries find a well of peace
or will Earth turn claws-outward
our madhouse custodians hypoing themselves
during live-broadcast, gleeful, podium tirades
as a drip of lies forever slides
greenly through their veins?