Dispatched

How quickly has it had its day,
The fine idea, whose time has come,
When misdirection leads the way
And its potential is undone.

How many messages are lost
In narrow frames of information,
Making truth and faith the cost
Of cynical manipulation.

Messengers as beacons, thought
More vital than the substance shared;
Projection cracks the vessel sought
To carry more than s/he can bear.

How readily a bridge is burned
When crowds turn on their expectations;
Slower, though, the lessons learned
In reaping failed imagination…

How easily can vision slip
When purchase hires fragile means
And possible becomes unpicked
From opportunity’s bright seams.

Project Downhill

That Cameron is a nervous man
Who knows his PR is a scam
Too much on loan to be his own
He should have been an almost ran

So Dave, resigned to being cheap
Inflates himself to cheat defeat
Deflects, dissembles, disrespects
And bullies when he should retreat

So smug when he’s got pals around
Alone, he wears the see-my-frown?
His value crap, the rented pap
Of even more expensive clowns

His clucking head-bobs punctuate
Exploding Ps and Ts that grate
That proxy thumb, another one
That never fails to irritate

And to and fro the puppet goes
He starts each day as if he knows
All merry with his Blackberry
On Project Downhill, Fate, in tow

And though but few would rescue him
Still, nobody will rein him in
The State is shattered but no matter
Peers earn bread on circus whim