A Diet of Worms

“The sword in the stone is the grit in the shell,

the choice for the few is the worst for the many.”

Chanting in the street, bottles secreted,

the tell-tale smell of flammables

seeps through yellow waistcoats

and designer donkey jackets

no longer marked N C B,

for there is no coal board,

nor gas, nor electric,

ask Sid, he’ll tell you.

Ships of state wreck themselves on specious arguments;

fools daub mis-spelt grievance on ancient monuments.

We learn the wrong lessons from history

having burnt the books of dissenters

on bonfires of insanity

lit by the spark of populist cant

which can’t be true

but remains believed.

“The sword in the stone is the spear of destiny,

the cross in the box is the one from Calvary”

We are all martyrs to the cause

and effect of a master plan

imagined by flat-earthers, birthers, truthers

latter-day misguided Martin Luthers,

this is no reformation

just the age of disinformation,

the dawning of the age of nefarious,

the hippies went corporate

google that, motherfuckers,

you know that rhymes with suckers,

you born-again-every-minuters.

Ride on, brothers,

take the A-train

to the terminus

on your expired oyster cards.

[Hear it read badly here]