Tuesday, February 13, 2018

Coma of Denial

I look onto the Ontario ocean where
                               a rising cloud of
icy mist plumes upward
              in a scene bordered by
hoar-frosted oaks, maples and willows...
only the bubbles keep the ice from
                     blocking the ancient
ferry's path
the natural fog morphs
     into a planetary cloud of sinister
                   infectious microbes
of cynicism, nihilism and despair
                across urban landscapes
there are no research grants to investigate
                 its poison
there are no deep thinkers probing its
there are no corporations admitting its
while a storm of protest erupts like a
            volcanic cell
whenever a political or moral cross-check
     as another victim falls
                          into the boards
the bio-viruses send microbiologists
                scurrying for new serums 
the planet protectors are in headline battle with
             the pipeline proponents
the secret-carry demagogues push for
       the right of everyone to be
locked and loaded for
in the topsy-turvey and venomous illogic
                     that only a "good-guy-with-a-gun"
can ward against a 
the message gurus twist their words
      their ethic and truth
to comply with their clients’ most base
                 and narcissistic demands
the opioid producers mislead
 about the
      side-effects of their radioactive
                                   profit motive
and crying from the car radio
          in a desperate posthumous
scream from beyond, Gord Downie pleads,
"Love not money is how we got good"….

sitting at the corner of Ontario
      and The Tragically Hip Way
I ask, "Is the prevailing fog anesthetizing
into a coma of denial?"

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