Jeremy Corbyn is the clock that stopped

Jeremy Corbyn is the clock that stopped.
And time again,
Take space; his parallax face
Fixed in his hands.



I sat awhile to contemplate,
On all horizons’ potent shores,
For seeming keener demonstration,
Matched to hue and fit to cause.

What glamour in those tempting flecks!
How green the grass and clear the air
Imagination could project!
Utopia, an everywhere!

In equal earthly measurement,
A paradise, to each, their own;
All borderline inhabitants;
All sovereign and all alone.

In mindful pieces, deafening;
No easy peace, the solo soul’s
Whole Heart’s desire: a weapon,
Filling space with fancy holes.

No witnesses invested:
Neither push nor pull for growth.
No purpose nor perspective,
Yet the psyche needs them both.

Aimless, isolated beings,
In entropic feedback loops
Of existence without reason
And devoid of living proof.

But no body is an island,
Or: why would we be, at all?
Even Free Will scans the mirrors,
That its spirit should evolve.

And, grateful for the meaning in
The value healthy friction bore,
I rose, returning, keenly,
To the world I knew before.

BIGGER than god

A paranoid prat with a past,
Has a lifelong obsession with class;
Finds his campaign momentum
In fuelling resentment,
In spheres were he thinks it is sparse.

And so sparse is the class in his mob,
That whatever he does they will tell him “good job”.
He could eat his own cat
And they’d say it deserved that,
See: JC is bigger than god. 🥀