• Vol. 08
  • Chapter 01

In This State of Pandemonium

Fear rises like steam
In a hot kettle
Sirens break the air
Like jackhammers
Crushing thought
Into incoherent gravel
And hope demands
We find our way up
Above the battleground
Far enough to see our limits
The earth’s short curve
The measure of our efforts
Against the stars eternal stare
Watching with blind indifference
As we crowd the sky
With arguments like airships
Bloated with opinion
Eager to elbow
all opponents out
And plant our own flag
On this sore contested land