Like it is wont to, now,
Preferring gibberish and rhetoric,
And an insincere bow,
Running on like a jaguar eating meat,
Or two children on fire,
Sopping up the mass leavings of the cops,
Hoisting upon their shoulders great liars,
Grinding through its mincer the freshest herbs,
Mixing them with poison,
Slathering the mush on the feet of queens,
As sun does the ocean,
Then calls it art.
There is work to be done on time for pay,
Lest Communism takes over this land.