On a day when all the news seems good, it must be
evidence of what I don’t yet know. Surely some nation
or some someone must be seeking vengeance
at this very moment, or one of death’s many special agents
has a plan with a reason behind it—god-voices once again
speaking demon language in his head.
Maybe for a while all the news is local, and therefore
a sweetness seems sustainable, but even then it might mean
that sociopath hasn’t yet emerged from his basement,
is still the nice quiet man his neighbors, when interviewed,
will attest to. Kept himself to himself, they’ll say.
I’m not trying to inform you, my friend, about what
you already know. Come visit. I need to talk to a betting man,
someone who still believes the future has a chance.