A short poem on a nearing sensation and a fading interrogation.
“It seems that nothing about your festering, homicidal temperament will set off any alarms worth hearing.”
“The Owl thought no one type of human was any better than another. All of them, after all, were inferior.”
A meditation on nuclear near-misses and personal alarm systems.
About the forthcoming attempt to downplay the effects of this meaningless political exercise.