The fat puppeteer withdraws his hand And democracy crumples, empty, to the floor The day is over, no eyes on him, He’s off To immerse himself in sin and immorality.
He sighs. And grunts. And rolls himself over to sun his other side.
Another day Another wife Another car Another life committed to dancing frantically below the line of loaves of bread Shining like festival lanterns over the streets Which will never change And never be any safer for their bullet dodging children.
Where is our democracy now? Where is the hope? The nation is tired of chasing rainbows.
Lady justice lies bleeding in the spotlight on the floor The winner struts proudly around her Laughing And the flashes flash and bare truth is emblazoned across the sky
The writing. The wrong. And the incalculable disaster of the defeat. The winner lands a final kick His face twists with determination Her face disappears
No one can hear her truth crying above the gluttonous crunching Of the men in the sidelines The men in charge Filling their swollen guts And their swollen desires With whatever they can take from the land.
The men in charge The men Sit in a row all plump and ripe with their mouths wide open Their foreheads glistening like empty bulbs While the land coughs up and funnels the everything into them Faster and faster And all the while they cry out As they grow Fatter and fatter Hungrier and hungrier.
The land collapses exhausted and emptied out Men and women lie starving by starlight Darker the night grows And corruption the nightjar sings A sad song which is as eternal as the tides The words paint the truth like watercolour So ignored, they’re practically immaterial If only the song was sung while the sun shone
If only it was light enough to see
(to be continued)
