I’m going to sleep now
having been called the Antichrist
by a man in the street

who pointed at me
in front of everyone
saying I had to be that

for the Antichrist
when he does wrong is feared
and when he does right

is assumed to be the Deceiver
and that’s you he said
that’s you boy oh Boy Obvious

I think of how often
I’ve done wrong or right
and how often I’ve been feared

and then blamed
Maybe it’s no more
than anyone else

but I think I feel it more
so I’m going to sleep off
the weight of my evil

Boy oh Boy Obvious
I’m the Antichrist to a crazy man
and to some guy in the street

Riding herd on the culture
gets old. You can’t keep up, that’s
rule one.  It’s not yours to
manage — physics runs a stampede,
there’s always one just getting started
or in full progress
or just ended and there’s always
blood in the dust after it’s done.
All you can do is ride alongside.
Nudge it a bit, spot
where it’s starting to turn,
join others
in pushing it that way, and hope,
always hope.

Fighting the good fight
gets old. You can’t keep up,
that’s rule one.  Biology
being the soft wet target it is,
your body will fail you at some point
and you’ll sink to the canvas
puzzled and convinced you can
still win.  You can’t win.  All you can do
is slow that demon across from you,
wreck him a bit, wait for time
to wear him out before you fall, and hope,
always hope.

Hope, always hope –
your own inner voice will tell you to ignore
every bit of advice and keep at it.
Mount up, square off, ride like crazy,
or keep swinging.  That’s what you do
even when all the tells suggest
there’s no hope to be had.

Hope, always hope.
It’s what the idiot saint inside you
promises each time you stretch out a hand
to comfort or guard or admonish or point out
a different way.  Hope, always,
is a dumb banner you’ll wave
no matter what you’re told,
won’t you —  because you are
that, of course, you
blessed, necessary fool.