A frail pail of turpentine
for your wounded pride, madame.
The drams in the dam keep coming up stone.
Deboned monarchs stand
mystified in the meat packing plant,
ties aslant with wings in their toes.
Just goes to show just what a show goes to.
Everyone everywhere nullified.
Dear readers dreaming of deicide.
Who was it exactly who decided
crows were cows and vice versa?
I’m a victim of a strange sort of inertia
and my fate is blitzed.
Pheromones burn brighter than this.
Listen for the carnivorous calls of the Zeitgeist,
then get all feisty with verbiage.
-r. miller
*Insert Propaganda Here* 