bound and gagged

Swallow simple propaganda pills to assuage your inner worry warts and swagger the nation — bound and gagged.

I felt the blister in your bluster — a boil lanced and gushed.

I heard the snivel in your snideness — the timbre of malice in that tone.

I smelled the fear in your denouncements — pitiable gutter-mouthed guttersnipe in your dénouement rags.

A visual pestilence follows where you point your finger — a rasp and a gasp and the nation is ours — procedural domes fracked. Teapot petulance our nation’s saving grace.

You sextant to diminishing returns on a foundering dory — flummoxed by flounder thoughts on a mid-winter Friday.

Your fundamental decorum foundationally fucked where like-minded manhoods finger themselves rotten.

You slurp your kitten soup with femur spoons — you delegate ghoul, you!

Thanks for the carbuncle memories and sophist suppurations. W’shall never forget thee.

What I’m Reading:

The truth is a sphere. We never see it whole, in its entirety. It slips down our throats, through our thoughts . . .  The truth is changeable, it contracts, implodes, it’s powerful like a bullet. And it can be lethal . . . The truth, a sphere that also contains within it a lie that spins at a different rhythm, like a cog that seems broken, unnecessary, but is vital to the mechanism’s functioning. The challenge is finding the lie within the sphere.

— Agustina Bazterrica / The Unworthy