over bleached collar right
claw stretched spectrum lefts,

extremes now central to
brewing melted-pot unrest,

only underpass oversight protests
are left of our founder rights,

breached bookends of lazy fingers gouging sockets 
in these turning table times,

no longer armed with the stable, lucid kind,
and the rest, forever falsely labeled blind,

still talking trite, still dynamite,
still munching bits of anthracite,

sailing fine seaways,’till clear we’re not,
bloated boat, rocked by wraiths
of dispossessed,

if ride ends here, I’m diving off.
to tread bible’s bones with best drones
in whatever’s left,

my last rites to progress.

©Anthony Gorman 2019

image: https://pixabay.com/users/comfreak-51581/

image: https://pixabay.com/users/aitoff-388338/


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