I pontificate
Affairs of state
They legislate
Pretend a fate
And masturbate
The thoughts that predicate a real confluence
Of blah blah blah
But we are wanting so much more than this from
Those we sent to serve
In towers painted ivory
And they are simply sitting there
Deliberate
And determinate
Their point to matriculate
to lower masses,
Theirs to dominate
My heart and soul to supplicate
Upon this ground
And again
As we scream
“No more”
And they return
“4 more years”

As watershed walls crumble beneath reforms
That never should be raised
False hopes and laws that never could or should
Fulfill anything
Because there was never anything there to fulfill
To begin with . . .
They were all just empty chalices
Lining the streets
Paved in gold plated tin, sold at souvenir shops as ill
Fated planes ride ill fated politicians through air currents
Over buildings that will not stand the test of any time

Pontificate and supplicate,
The masses here to dominate
But to what end?
If mastication is the goal, then simply walk away
For on their own they do more harm
Then ever you might do
To them . . .