Capistrano and its swallows held
no joy for me. That thaumaturgy was
as rotten as the Wormwood Tree

blooming in an acrobatic circus act.

Poetry as politics; who would have thought?
Contra mundum.

Let’s jeer it for the spin doctors, with their
film noir auguries: Bungling Cassandras,
spouting inanities, ex nihilo, ad nauseum.

Alicia Patti

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/raven-kings/