Every so often the monster tangents; sets off down some divergent lane in parenthetical excursus and in so doing comments upon or responds to some, just some of the sound-bitten prattle which all too frequently passes for reliable reportage by our public service broadcaster.
As our national executive administration seems to be setting itself up (once again) to snap its bureaucratic knicker elastic, and the confederacy of incompetents charged by the citizens of the state with national government suddenly seem more intent on crawling through the mud of petty party allegiances, we must not forget…
The seasons, the years, whole lifetimes draw back
From the body formed bags on each flattened out box
Sprawled in the city’s porticos, black,
Where smack of cold concrete meets hum of old fox,
With the skat, and the crap, all the refuse of memory
Now junked out of sight on canal bank dark lane
Being sluiced for the cause; a dark lavatory,
A flushing of shame down a name and blame drain
By spluttering seers who’d have us first amongst peers.
But the fool on the street knows better than this.
Cash for crash suites house our new social fears
While the doorways fill up with cardboard and piss. JJK. 24th Nov 2017