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Bolt Uptight
An open letter to all fascist commentators
who may well be, even as we speak,
totting for wisdom up and down
your local street.

Big shot - you sottish clot
for penning down such oafish tommyrot
such flaming babel seeks no cure
but clinches into fists
the very hands that ensure, of bliss
once bled, can ne'er again
presume to form a pure, loving cup
nor embrace, any more, the loveless heart
nor quickly move to honour us all
with service, prudent and de rigueur.
These angry hands, though no more idle
are doing now, some devil's tasks
and punching fiercely as they go
break all the rules of human evolution.
Your dismal ablution of our spirit
reeks of the paltry mendacity
your turgid words seek to tweak
into the fickle programme of the mob
and all else therein.
Ah, and your superiority
underwhelms any canny drudge
and time will see you
in good stead, for your fits and all,
a sad, very sad and small
indeed very small, blackballed
droll old man outside
your well dressed head..
You dutifully stamp on any single
atom's worth of critique
as if to say none should exist,
against the hideous diatribe
that you so tediously preach.
Yet 'tis you sir, guns ablaze,
firing scatter-gun, aghast,
lest that any grain of some moot truth
should yet get past your guard
to vilify your own dark art..
We seek to find illumination
about this greatest place!
Our nation, world, the universe..
when a butterfly of cursive thought
that blunders upon your sickly web
of thought, and astounded
by the illogic of it all,
begins to read the opening barb -
there is no more felicity hence
but instead it be beaten about
by your feckless head..
All butterflies might just as well
be dead! - and just might all
by attrition be imagined no more,
but patiently attend, before your soul,
your dear God's lonely desecrated halls.
They would await a man who'd ne'er get in.
They who say they are without sin
are, odds-on, the most certain to begin
the sinning e'er it should be
as just the thought suffice you see,
however cloaked and made sub-rosa
by ardent righteous tirades
whilst carefully hemming in
all that might be human
lest be blackwashed by the impolitic
with sins exposed to next of kin,
the media and the old farts
in the benumbed company you bring.
But that the heights of saturnine woe
keep proportion to all Orphic,
labyrinthine, hedged in self-reproach
should come as no surprise
to someone in-the-know.
Yours is the most disturbing of souls,
but any who are not servant to clear truth
are but simply liars and fibbers 'struth..
I sometimes think you yourself believe
in the bad taste, and ignoble squallish squalor
the arguments in your articles
produce and tend to cleave.
Believing then what e'er you do,
I find it difficult to imagine
a wizened mind of such stupefying magnitude
could do battle with virtue itself
so vociferously, having so prudently
and sagaciously proven in your didactics,
the certain existence of such a thing..
You wonder then, why such cruel comparison
be made of you, to a certain chancellor
of a certain Reich who just like you
only listened to the loudest,
mad and trumpeting voices
rampaging in his head?
Copyright © Ben Kross

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