The Lunatics Have etc… by Harry Gallagher

I am not a silent poet

And if the battlelines are drawn,
what then? And who draws them?
But open arms and soft voices
are feather bedding for blades.

And goose stepping goons
know no reasons for stopping.

If you’re raised in a world
where kindness is weakness,
synapses, once snapped,
can never grow back.

When the tide blocks its ears
and refuses to turn,
maybe we should all just
blame the moon.

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