Strained excesses muted strides
alive with graven images
the imagination shines thoroughly
but toward what end
toward history and providence
moonshine and slippery fingers
winging left to right
back and forth foreshadowing
the first disaster foreshadowing
the final mockery keeping time
with ticking clocks broken locks
arrange the symbols in a row
that gives them meaning
but they only have the meaning
that you give them
now where’s your mother tongue
tied up in the cellar
with the wines of degradation
and the nation of slaves
knaves and shaven legs
drinks the dregs to peg the target
and peg the target to the wall
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 