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Inside the Beltway, it’s a black hole.

Outside? Only desert islands.

Actual desert islands, none with much of a palm.

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Castaway means left behind,

Less than a dot on the map.

Not in sight. No way borne in mind.

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Look, it’s not just doom and gloom,

It’s worse, far worse, in fact. You made the wrong mistakes,

The ones that fuck you up.

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There’s no escape from how your life pans out.

What you were doing was never going

To get you anywhere. Your island is the dullest of all ends.

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Even the sea can’t be seen from there.

The shore is walled off, the sky

Obstructed by a ceiling. That poet got it wrong.

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Island? More like a cell

Afloat without a funnel.

You could be staring into a well

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Or walking down a tunnel

That gets darker, and that’s all it does.

There’s no light at the end of it, whatever

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Anyone told you. Only those pigs who scratch

Each other’s backs bask in the sun.

How could you cast pearls before such swine?

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