
to mourn the wasted years
the days are short and fewer now
and many are the fears
the house of endless mirrors
rebound my miseries
the calculated loop is thus:
it feeds thy fears to thee
upside down and backwards
but familiar all the same
these waters have been charted
we've already forgot
the dead navigators name
the new regime rolled in on
the tanks the last one left
and it weren't good vibes
just a futile disguise
and existential threats
the comedians were crying
and embraced like long lost brothers
and turned into snakes
and ate their tails in their tanks
as they interviewed each other
and the sycophants do stretches
and acrobatic feats
with logic measured
against the treasure
promised them by kings
oh you with bookshelf backgrounds
behind your talking heads
is there a tome behind
your lying eyes
to explain away the dead
what language shall I borrow
to mourn the wasted years
the days are short
and fewer now
and many are the fears