With formidable presence, the flatfish of the future
cradles liberty for deadbeat voters, bread and circuses
lifted off the grounds of local parks, chanting falsehoods
in perfect disguise of his words air seems coherent.
On flat-screen monitors his fins direct the choruses,
and his specific drums’ schematic lure us into trance.
There is a certain type of lie, that borrows strength
from ligatures and bones, there’s decay of flesh
with smell of flowers and there are winning losers
amplified in flatfish-words and our ecstatic dance
is melting glaciers fueled by flames of fossil fuel.
We burn like ice, and as fungi our fingers gorge
the eyes of walled-in danaids. We are the supplicants.
We are the armed. We’re strong. We’re flatfish followers
Today Abhra tends the bar for Open Link at dVerse. Today I just started to write and came up with this political allegory. Any connection to a specific candidate might not be coincidental.
January 7, 2015