Dented Reprise 4 Poem by Thomas Fink

What plots derange our level gaze,

feyly?
Well, the emperor's jiving,

and his beat slits the poor.
Daisy steeple popping,
‘cause he's copping some war.

I can't rent no
smattered traction.
Too much donkey isthmus for me
to be dissolved in.

And is it just
raving dream
that could throw
our machine?
And the way you strike

is way beyond a spare.
We've got to brick up
every glitch;
don't free the sleazy, sudsy kitsch.
So give me your art,
make it squeal,
or else infect the doubted.