they sighed
The 5 o'clock mass of late winter apathy
Borne ceaseless to and from and back again
To Salt Lakes to frozen sky to unfeeling supermarket self checkout lane
To the dawn that brought life and the dusk that killed again
From sea to shining sea to burning bush
and a grand halo for all the art majors,
scathing editorial for the industry people
On the freeway passed out stone black sinners under veil of Southern sky
And narcotics agents circling up and down the block
Cancer dependent martyrs all,
The Saint, the Wolf, and his ****** Lover
Trash can fires turn to frozen hellscape
To Babylon out West past the Rockies and North of the Gulf
Mother of ghosts slaving away at an impotent family supper
And she let a single tear fall and whispered,
"This one will bring me luck,
It may not be much now, but just wait
There's gonna be a ******* riot when the Wolf comes home"