The epileptic flashes, billows of raucous metals
Molten power-houses, tendrils of smoke in a glass…
A stale age trapped in a whirling orb of freshness,
Its time slothfully ticking behind the other times.
The arthritic caterpillars that lumber along faded trails.
The commotion-on-wheels that squeal on bald paths,
Their sweltering cargo tightly packed as sardines-in-oil,
That sprinkle dust on ill-timed victims as in an odd ritual.
The gloomy gateways that cage sojourners as birds
Their hallways heated up to many sweating degrees.
The loaves of blame, hurriedly baked by cold chefs,
Shred out to souls only hungry for getaway.
The battle to the death to float in hallowed space
Barons lifted into orbit on flawed countdowns:
The birth of a galaxy noted for its greedy lustre;
The desecration as by fiery pests.
The new-rich, as gluttons with food, gorge on the poor
Their gilded palaces deriding their brow-beaten hovels.
Their once pleading voices choked by banquets.
Their eyes blind to withering frames, ears deaf to outcries.
The scale of Justice weighted down with gold:
A hand dislodged for culling an errant goat
A hand kissed for gilt-edged rustling.
A warehouse laden with felons not worth their charge indeed.
The Premier rolled away on a bed of lies
And back as contraband in the dead of night.
A council ruled by self-interest.
A people defeated by disbelief.
The bondage of the many by the few.