This beast has our country’s contours
written all over it.
It has leapt from out of the ruins
of the city, those hollow squares,
and from the great labrynth below ground
where the thread got tangled,
and from the wi-fi and the wires
through which we do not speak
but intone like digital toys
or just snarl, just howl.
The rough beast is uncaged at last.
It stalks across the burnt horizons.
It stretches its claws
it grows into itself.
Rogan Wolf, December 2016