The World Is Run by Assholes

I check my mail this morning, and I read
My friend Paul is distressed at what we see,
And sends me dire predictions, contumely,
And harsh remarks of whole worlds gone to seed,
A botched civilization. Quite the screed,
Albeit thoroughly concise, and free
Of unearned loathing. We could save one tree,
However, even while our poor hearts bleed.

The world is run by assholes? I guess so,
And could we run it better? I'd say yes,
Although that, too, would have to be a guess.
I don't think poetry makes green things grow,
But we are saxifrage. Here's what I know:
The world has always been a goddam mess.