Seven

November screams outloud “the seventh, the seventh”
And ohio’s burial shroud binds up the desert
November screams outloud “the seventh, the seventh”
And ohio’s burial shroud shadows the crescent
But what is hopeful? what is hopeless?
When the needs of the populus
Become politics
November screams in chorus line
To deadlocked votes and wasted time
There is no them, there is no us
Just tow the party line
And the dream
Drags on in rust