we sought after them,
our better angels,
and learned that they had died
or fled this battlefield
in favour of less insane ground
from which to watch the conflagration;
and so now we’re caught
appealing to our better demons,
our less destructive demons,
to pull us from this fine mess,
this water-logged, sinking ship, SOS
that we’re sure to drown in,
if only a little,
for the hands that would pull us free,
they also want to push us under
and be done with the whole, stinking lot.