A Nation At Dusk

Debauched and careening,
a faint whiff of Rome ablaze,
I thought it would be taller,
grander,
but there is no fight left in it.
Its principles have been hollowed.
Its resources have been squandered.
Its grandeur has been raped.
There was a dream,
but the young don't remember it,
and the old are too tired to care,
numbed and worn down,
the daily fascistic media bombardment skull-fuck,
rootless and tumbling,
we scream at the walls,
at each other,
into the void,
denying the body,
yet craving the flesh,
because no one makes love anymore,
and our nation is a masochist.