Angst

ANGST

Immune to the cold winds of empire
I disengage. Video games are my thing.
Digitized phantoms don't hit back.
I am with 'em and I am agin 'em.
Comfort the thought.
Up here in my aerie
Courting a plume of unwitting isolation.

Locked doors on regnant possibilities
I have crooned the appropriate anthem
But not danced to any old tune.
Skimming and weaving, as nobody's man,
I am hard pressed to admire
The products of a twentieth century,
Immune, as I am, to the cold winds of empire.

So, consequently, with unbridled hubris,
Up here with my continental clientele,
I am inured and I am complicit.
You are inured and you are complicit.
They are inured and they are complicit.
I acknowledge: I condone the psychotic. As
I pass on the cold winds of empire. Yes!

Roger Kemble
December 2001