The mountains west still beckon
As the oligarchs plunder and burn.
The opioid-riddled legions,
Unwilling, unable to discern,
Parade to a set of marches—
Dog-whistling’s so easy to learn.
The powers stacked, not separate.
Greed, in session, will not adjourn.
The inside grabs the outside
Past point of safe return.
But truly the mountains beckon
Towards an horizon that asks its turn.
A journey of many days forward
To a place worth the yearn.
