when the beast
slouches toward bedlam
corrective measures are in order
calls from the crowd demand
muscle
communism
good drugs
strong medicine
a way out
the center is spinning
widening the gyre
screaming platitudinous conjecture
like gospel
spurning a populist beast
and seeking a new philosopher/
king
none answer the call
because now even the center
recognizes the fissures in its visage
technocracy’s placating tones
vex now even the shadows of
indignant desert birds
as bedlam inches closer to slouch
the center is baffled and fooled
with such surety
