Without Right

I study Her form
for my snow white angles,
cold, blunt thievery.

This weather is farcical.
You should hear it on the news.

It’s not that the globe
isn’t on fire, today,
nor haven’t I smoked.

It is not my time to blow
rings in the face of my death.

I’ve never listened
to those who have insisted
it’s time to give up.

In a moment of weakness,
I would hide from your power.

Formalities exchanged,
sympathies given back,
Your absence would remain.