Remorseless sun stunts the dew
Glistening towers of tainted glass
ignite and blister in blood-yellow light
recalling the tallest of crumbling tombs
as humbler graves harbor their dead
in the clutches of earth and callous night
The past is draining through inhuman dreams
no people are packing backrooms and bars
no pride or empire rises on ruins
no glance at a face gleans what is fair
Everyone senses evil has come
The world we knew will not be renewed
and gods of technology are graceless and numb
We call for a hero but just hear recordings
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In the latest installment of the ongoing interview series with contributing editor Mark Bauerlein, Florence Hazrat joins…