Election talk goes,
tic-a-tac-a, tic-a-tac-a,
down the decades,
dribbling the ball of blame,
never tackling,
psycho-babble blocking out the airwaves,
debating us to death
from malleable manifestos,
passing, passing,
never scoring.
There boldly go this season's
charading prophets,
cybering strong and proud,
best suits,
pick off babies in the crowds,
calculated, sound-bite smiles,
glow wild,
to buy us into line,
still, we're content to buy them time
and time and time again
to break their
promises, promises...
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waiting for the perfect tidal wave: a soul tsunami knuckle whitening cataclysmic change. waiting to inhabit second earth: send out sat...
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Dogs like us... Ain't got no family trust, Lyin' around this ol' bunk shed With nothin left but to be led. They's saying...
Sadly, all politicians, it seems, begin with a promising career. Smiles.
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