When you wake up, darling,
know that your dream was not hacked.
The unsmiling man wrapped in the stars
and stripes is a professional magician.
He builds intricate spiderwebs and lobster
traps to shield his future with carcasses.
His trappings are thin webs of neon lights,
dazzling, hypnotic—deadly at the base.
Reality has galloped out of its antebellum
rustic barns into urban streets with burning
hooves and riders, brandishing the magician’s
flag like a royal float passing through town.
Babe, ghostly men with white robes
have always occupied the dark corners.
Now, armed with ropes and hacksaws, they have
moved center stage as the magician’s helpers
weave more webs, more trappings, as if
time diminishes the hypnotic effects.
Darling, the magician is America’s alter ego
ensnaring the heavens with sword-like steeples.