by Eleanor Goldfield

in the ashes of our mistakes –

shredded bits of paper –

like confetti at a funeral –

someone has to burn.

between the lines lie criss cross lies –

do you ask the light if it’s good?

A murdered messenger

sent us a message –

how easily tho –

it got lost in the din – –

coz didn’t he sin?

Yeah, he’s an arrogant ass –

giving fascists a pass – —


A hostage of Holy Rome –

a rattler of thrones.

Either way –

His fate, we do own.

Either way –

this leaking truth, we do own.

If you feel like you’re drowning – wake up.

The arguments shallow, the precedent deep –

and the road to perdition is steep –

and slick.

Do you follow their lead?

The leaks can’t be dammed –

but the man –

so easily damned.

Coz secrets can’t be kept –

but lies have shelf lives far too long.

Here is the empire’s swan song –

a failing and flailing hegemony –

a Machiavellian tragedy –

a grotesque dark comedy –

an idiocracy, we –

are the players – and the played.

Must this show go on?

I don’t know this man –

but I don’t want his blood on my hands.

As a child of empire –

I’m already soaked.

Then buy me a beer and we’ll talk about sin –

but here, now – I’m tearing down gallows

coz the ashes of our mistakes –

are choking out the light.