Waiting

There is fake blood on congressional walls, the outraged rage on though they are all unclear about whatever. Beyond our shores apocalyptic war gallops on four horses. A river of blood flows to the sea. Are there marmalade sandwiches for tea or only a thinly buttered bread and wilted cucumber? Back from the conflict reporters warn of storms on the home front, but we who kneed our knees, to facilitate, hating to disturb the already perturbed, await with bated breath for the big bang and the death of reason forever. 00