has only itself to blame
for the rise of the blogosphere
because when every public gesture
is made inauthentically
the public will seek authenticity elsewhere
but even so
i've learned to withhold full trust
even from the blogosphere
because the snares of Satan-Rove are subtile
so I take with a grain of salt
Capitol Hill Blues' highly plausible rumors
of W's impending nervous breakdown
or this from Drudge
that he's retreated behind a harem of four forgiving women
his wife, his mother, Condi and Karen Hughes
but the image this suggests is dramatic
W trying to be a Norman Rockwell hero
in easychair, with pipe
four concubines at his feet
while in the dark closet shadows lurk
the greedy evil connivers
and perhaps beyond
glancing worriedly in the windows
Powell and Clinton and GHW
(how far we've fallen
that GHW looks like a ray of hope)
add, too, Nora Ephron's theory
that W exercises to keep depression at bay
in the form of an exercise bike
that he keeps close by
belying the pretense of calm
and remark the absence
of his less-forgiving daughters
who must have taken an ever-increasing burden of crap
from their peers over the last few years
