The Age of Nefarious by Alison Vail Fuller at

The Age of Nefarious

The Age of Nefarious

written by: Alison Vail Fuller



haunts me and

our country
spinning back
on itself

images of
wild kingdom beauty
with unfair
blood dripping
from a tiger’s mouth
its limp body draped
over a proud human
our first family
with snide smiles
holding their weapons
well-polished rifles

baby bears
targets of
fair game
in the game
of our president

smog is
yes, befoul
our famous
esteemed scientists
know nothing

moving back
to a time
when we
for a breath
of worthy air
and our water was ill suited
for drinking—
too polluted

will we also return
to illegal
bloody hangers
tearing at flesh

we women ponder
we fight a good fight
we live in shock
disastrous decisions
formed by empty brains
vomited daily as executive orders

what next? what slaying?
what gets axed today? (are they saying?)

red blood
smeared by an orange leader
not popularly chosen
victorious by way of
Moscow plots
Comey shots

smiling rich men
helming every department
proud of
their sport in all their comportment
as they strip empathy
from my country tis of thee
and strike at those people with their bigotry
deny climate change with defiance
blow up every treasured alliance
target innocents with their darts
or strangle
the humanities and the arts

I used to
have a great sense of pride
in our nation
and our optimistic trajectory

now there’s no place to hide
we’re a deformation
of the revered land of the free

from sea to shining sea
we decline as a democracy

money rules
legislators are tools
corporations are people, my friend
no low is too low for us to descend

I thought we—
our country—
could role model
our world

equality and

humanity feels
obsolete today

once a haven
now a hell

walls of intolerance
halls of hate
stifling the best of us
The Age of Nefarious

the worst of
proudly displayed
democracy now a big charade
patriotism hailed as America First
no— it’s the U.S. at its worst



Art by Russel Foltz-Smith

Alison Vail Fuller

Alison Vail Fuller

Activist. Warrior. Survivor.
The blank page beckons. It can provide the key to truth, to inspiration, to enlightenment, and to justice. At a time when fundamental democratic institutions are under assault, arts and letters can give testimony to the unprivileged, the underserved, and the forgotten.
I write because it is life sustaining, and I hope that my words reflect, even in a small way, the indomitability of the human spirit.
A Connecticut girl transplanted to New York City’s East Village, I later found my way to Venice, California. I was quickly won over by its tableau of diversity, art, and the breathtaking views that always promise better days—for our daughters, our sons, and all mankind.
Alison Vail Fuller

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