In the boastful, casual manner you portray,
You betray your actual lack of ruthlessness.

The act is a fun game,
But the consequences are heavy.

If no one buys what you're selling,
Suffice to say you're starving.
If it causes greater harm or grief,
Suffice to say you're swinging.

For others yet are playing,
But play not.

For behind many faces hide wide smiles,
By many frames are different the pictures.

I feel that the light is shining on all of us,
Here today,
That are of this generation.
Without thought for creed or nation,
Dispensation or convictions.
I feel in the air
A breeze of change
From the winds of truth.
I hear the chimes
Of a pur of gust on chords
From a pale vision given color.

I see concern in the face of my brothers,
I discern a scent staining my sisters.

That they are not treated as fathers,
That they are not treated as mothers;
That they are less person & more chattel.

Whatever your chosen identity.

And even so, despite conjecture
The majority feel as such,
That line of a nation
Is one without factions.
And yet, by the party system,
That lie of a nation
Is one where we are equals.
Because in being separate
We are not different,
Not in this way.
For we are conjoined
And yet disjointed;
Debating becomes like arguing,
Disagreeing becomes like fighting.

My friends, what are we doing?
Is it not yet evident
That without the cooperation,
Consent,
And participation
By the majority of the populace
That it is impossible for us to attain real order?
Outside of seditious and nefarious plans
For power grabs of total control,
Which will all reliably fail,
There are solutions.
Nothing so final
As the extremist comics,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So salivate and dream over.
And nothing so care-free
As some sadists or hedonists,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So swoon and fall for.
Yet nor too meek or rigid
As some fanatics or magicians,
Often pessimists or nihilists,
So worship and practice ritual.
No. We will be democratic
With a government
Who hears of all
That plagues & plights;
By little & tall,
Small & large.
We will have a middle,
Common ground
Where we may all be impartial.
That place we shall call,
Columbia.

Ah - ick coats the tongue.
Agh, let me just lick this up.
Gotta get it off.

If evidence is incrimination,
Then fleeting art is an exoneration.
Like pictures drawn in the sand,
Like lightning turning sand to glass;
As though a constellation were made from a man,
As though a mule became a golden ***.

It was the glen of jabberwocky,
Deep within the twaddle mire.
The gobbledygook was being spewed
By the grand codswallop,
The tripe was drivel
And all manner of blethered haver
Did most piffle & bosh.
The great imperial hooey of guff-phooey
Visited with bunk,
There was to be a festivity of the tommyrot;
On the morrow we would dribble bull
Till the cobblers called tosh, ****, cod,
And said their applesauce.
No malarkey here crosses their fingers,
For all the liars have bellywash
And work the flapdoodle with bunkum & bushwa.
All the poppycocks we laid out
For the celebration of the gibberish,
When mumbo jumbo hung a more,
Low & long.
On the fens of the balderdash,
At the mouth of the babble,
We sang the song of argle-bargle
By our native tongue jargon.

It was first rate flummery
By the standards of the order of palaver,
The prime wheedlers of gab & fanster.

I see her in smiles of the living room fens,
When sunlight hits wet on the mire.
Between the waves that lick the bights,
On the steeps of the fjords as sound.
In the vibrations of breezes on stamens,
Like a gentle resonance of pollen on pistils.
In the currents of a universe as a celestial,
Through these fluctuations as mysteries.
Deep out like some starry cosmos,
Far out like some alien culture.
On proverbial outskirts as hypothetical fringes,
As like waterfalls after rains have swelled.
By the puddles stirred together as unison,
In the droplets as ink splatters join paper.
Moon sets as like blues jazz records end,
On mornings mist full as classical pieces.
Like indescribable ideas as beautiful emotions,
When pebbles fall as sand by the ocean.
As worlds collide like harp concertos,
Through chords of movement as cell division.
For like den to hare as ribs to hearts,
Like mind to matter as sight for hawk.

Music of life,
How I long to sing with you
Into eternity & for perpetuity.
What is the song,
For but us as one?

To stand alone, together.
To be separate, nevermore.
To sit with ourselves, apart.
To be whole, hereinbefore.

So the freaks who have more alienated themselves,
And as consequence us all,
As though they are royalty
Slander the name of all of Europe;
It's nobility & law,
It's cultures & histories?
Asia and the Africas,
Even those of this same continent?

Where do you hope to go, creatures?

For when, not now if,
You craft for yourself a throne,
We shall pin you to it
And make ourselves a new monument.
There, on the banks of reflection,
You will hear our rally call;
Then you shall fall.

Ad tyrannos calcamus!