Tuesday, 28 August 2012

The Order of the Directors of State Boundaries

Society becomes rather special,
And the air quite threatening,
When 8-year-olds become master astronauts
Who devise secret science letters between themselves
While socializing in Vegas amongst old guitarists
And cultural pillars of anonymous white people
In some room in Hotel Rio.
Then joint nations and oak leaf empires
Give out missiles as badges
And drop pendulous burning fish on our hamlets.
They strike the deep purple sea like spears
And buds of lightning weave through the cracks
While socialists fight in fissures over blood and debt.

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