Cure and chaos. Not on a grand scale,
I grant you, but as another example of that
The cityscape to the feudal, and the counties
Beyond to the country that early legends
In his stone is a world away from the rock Dave
Crawled under. And blow as he might through
Gushes forth. It is as if Political office were not
Even a place where the half hearted performing
A rehearsal room (or shed) for bad actors
To blithely record false applause.
Something beginning with C: craven? Coward?
Or any other word you can think of. Some say Crook,
As the rest of us are pushed to Golgothas,
Former secret codes into chaos. As with any supposed
Divorce, the embittered try to deny what once was.
Inside him, to poison the cowardly Lion, with his fart-like
Exhalations as he waddles towards his warped Oz.
As fucked by farragoes, the cargoes of lies oil-slick out.
Corrupting the shore, the seas’surrond and all swimmers,
We can oppose and decry but will suffer still, doing nothing.
As the point of contagion is always concerned with the germ.
To wash them? If we do conceive fresh solutions, by shifting
Soil, sense and surface to actively turn that lost worm?
Lennon. Severely wronged, cruelly taken for what they tried