A Pocketful of Poesy was and is again a Poem-a-Day(-on-Average) Blog! For 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012, and now for 2017 and going forward, you may expect to see 365 poems every year, 366 for leap years.

but aren't they all random?

Monday, April 29, 2019

found my party

Finally

after all this life
I've found out what
I politically am. What animal

what kind of cat

so hard to classify, for oh
so how long it has been:

I'm an Americrat.

Not looking it up!
I'm sure the term's been used
and used again, let's just

get brass tacks shoved
in drawing boards - has anybody
got a pen? And pin down
and up to what it means
by now,

and then

- if we want, we'll overlook,
survey the wreckage of such swept-aside
nonsenses as paraded by
in anybody else's book - which, frankly
no one cares about, or would

if they had heard
of it. We always

can.

My system - rather, party -
is of those who advocate
for change.

Not any change, oh no - not just!

What we demand has wider range
and broader scope, and deeper
breadth, and rangier width
and higher depth, and

far more hopeful height
and shit. The groundwork's what

we're laying next. Don't hold
your breath, it's going to take
a stern commitment and some steps
we haven't quite perfected it.

Our vision calls for government
based on a future-based A.I.
(intelligence that's artifice
is better than the blatant lie
and rank pretense we're saddled
with, and roughshod trampled under
by!) which could send signal, hint
and code from future time beyond
unknown - and that's what we'd
decide upon. Simple, incorruptible
- since we cannot send message back,
and where it sits, it cannot scan
beyond the blackened, gaping crack
of records purged and knowledge lost
in scathing blast of aftershocks
of counter-counter-countersmack
attack upon attack, clean hits
with every button pushed by hand
resentment and apocalypse, in anger at
each passing moment's loss, 'til

every one and place
had finally
decisively
been hit,
'til every trace
of time and history
had been wiped out
of it. The doomsday clock
had finally, decisively
struck out, lashed out
with flying hands for days on end

despite we individually
had every chance
of stopping it.

One thing remained to think its way

somehow, to us. To reach, not knowing
just how when or how far where, or who
it was

on this end
of the line.
Surprise!

It's us! Ready to rule the past!
Our now is time. The new Americrats!
We're up! We'll use
that guidance, take that trust

and build a better world
somehow, to last
and last

and in the end,
we'll win the last

of everything. Whatever prize

is left, we will

stop worrying

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