A Pilgrim not progressive

The Slog

Beyond a brain assailed by mire
a soul somewhere must still aspire
to dull the pain of every souture
adding golden past to future.
A doggerel goes around the world
(its smiling lips perversely curled)
to pour false witness on the old.
To blinker eyes with lies ice-cold.
To promise golden ages soon.
To damn the smiles in my cocoon.
To call me every heinous name –
“far-Right rapist” – and defame
my only heroes once carnate
as harbingers of racist hate.
Come Churchill, Carlin, Bentham, Ike
and fall upon the Wapo spike:
we see your heads at Traitor’s Gate,
predicting every free man’s fate.
Come Kafka, Orwell, Huxley, More –
accept your fate as Blobs adore
the catechismic Brechts and Maos
as cataclysmic sacred cows…
while shaming Beijing and (Ras)putin,
insisting we must put the boot in.

A permafrost of discontent
lies still beneath this thin consent
for masks…

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