Second Coming No. 249 — September 25, 2025

A poem-a-day protest against the threat posed to our democracy by Donald Trump and his fascist regime — Autumn Equinox Edition

Sep 25, 2025

Second Coming has modified its editorial guidelines to allow for more direct reference to the regime and its evil deeds, without sacrificing the resources of poetry.

What kind of times are these
when to talk about trees is almost a crime
Because it leaves so much atrocity unspoken
—Bertolt Brecht

Gregory Crosby
Spectacle

I’m trying. I’m trying to adjust.
They keep saying, Do not adjust your set,
but we passed the outer limits long ago.
Imagine you’re trapped in the farmhouse
in Night of the Living Dead, with the ghouls
pressing in from all sides, & someone
shouts, Release the files! Imagine
standing in the line at Antietam or
Gettysburg, murmuring, Political
violence solves nothing. Well, yes. Meanwhile,
chickens, roosting on every surface.
Meanwhile, someone else is thrown into
a van. I’m trying to adjust. We control
the vertical; we control the horizontal.

Submitted for your approval: nothing.
I approve of none of this, neither cops
nor criminals, jackboots or grifts. Nothing,
none of it, no. In this zone of twilight,
everyone simply zones out; everyone
trying to make it to the next commercial,
where at least the scam is not so occluded,
where you can click Skip. I do not approve
of the very substance in which I swim,
in which I tread something thicker than water,
thinner than civility. They want War
to swallow Defense. I do not approve.
I cannot adjust. I have come to the
dark tower, & the horn is at my lips.

Are the mirrors black because they’re covered
in sorrow, or because I cannot bear
what they reflect? It’s the anniversary
of the beginning of the end, but not
the end of the beginning. The sun is
out, & on every corner it seems
the Jehovah’s Witnesses crowd around
a sign that asks, How Will the World End?
What a relief that America is not
the world, though far too many think it is;
a relief to live on this island, as if
there is no tunnel, there is no bridge.
I’m still trying, still trying, even though
I just said I can’t. It’s an hour past noon.

Soon I will rise from this table to teach.
In the poets house, my words on the shelf
wait, likely in vain, for some release.
Meanwhile, more words. Meanwhile, lies like
flies in search of their lord. Lord, but I’m bored
by the sheer awfulness of what we’ve become;
I sit in sheer awe of how ridiculous
this terror is, & will be, & how deadly,
how a death cult has swallowed reality.
I cannot adjust; can I stop the stream?
The cost, the cost. My soul is a cabin
in the clear-cut woods—the wi-fi is strong.
I do not approve; I will not look; I will.
Change the channel, change, change, change, change, change.

Gregory Crosby is the author of the poetry collections Said No One Ever (Brooklyn Arts Press, 2018) and Walking Away From Explosions in Slow Motion (The Operating System, 2018) and the chapbooks Spooky Action at a Distance (The Operating System, 2014) and The Book of Thirteen (Yes Poetry Press, 2016). His poems have appeared in Rattle, Luna Luna, Yes Poetry, Dusie, Josephine Quarterly, and other journals, as well as on KNPR’s Desert Companion blog. Crosby holds an MFA in creative writing from City College of New York and teaches creative writing in academic and community settings.

Second Coming is a project of Indolent Books, a haven for poets over 50 without a first book and a welcoming space for women, people of color, queer and trans writers, and others who do not fit molds or conform to expectations.

Consider becoming a paid subscriber or making a one-time tax-deductible donation to Indolent Books, a nonprofit 501(c)(3) boutique literary press.

Upgrade to Paid

Donate