As another year
Of choreographed fear,
Institutional rust
And mutual mistrust
Comes to its close
But, yet, projects, without repose,
The TINA thrust,
May we resolve, as seems, we must
To let our righteous cosmic dust
Get right on up the noses
Of all wicked, crony power-lust
In doses Just and just enough,
That greedy gasbags self-combust.
Advertisements
Reblogged this on Redvince's Weblog.
LikeLike