Declination

Conducting the business of distance
in dreaming, where rhythms are listless,
connecting old age to its systems

Kept waiting for seasons of showers,
for progress, delivered in hours,
to follow the transfer of powers

We millions recline by the numbers,
malt whiskey in mind, in our tumblers,
to watch as our prospects grow humbler

In haste, begin self-recollecting
defeats and their dates, no selecting,
objectives and fates resurrecting,
declining correction, nor choosing—
election is codename for losing—
but simply detecting the bruising