grim political poetryblogging

I’m sitting in my favorite coffeeshop trying to get work done and contemplating X Derangement Syndrome. The sun is hitting my eyes at exactly the wrong angle, so that it’s uncomfortable to look at the computer, and that seems to be my excuse for not having written anything in the last hour. And in this mood:

Epitaph on a tyrant

Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after
And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;
He knew human folly like the back of his hand,
And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;
When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,
And when he cried the little children died in the streets.

– W. H. Auden


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