What’s a writ before a witless worm, A worm before a storm? “Worms aren’t indigenous, though, They’re borers in foreign loam, Usurpers, delighted undertakers rolling in it.” Rich earth, richer pleasures unknown. But no epaulets for them: An epaulet, a thread of gold = a threat. We fear Czars ascending again, Crowned not in opposition to the administration, But with abject derision for our holy kingdom. This poem was written by Sammy Dalati. Send an email to writing-uca@oncenturyavenue.com to get in touch. Photo Credit: Marjorie Wang