The more you open your mouth, the more I find

I don’t understand how people aren’t burning effigies of you

and asking if you are just by chance

playing the greatest political joke on a population

that has become ensnared between falsehood after false pretence,

of lie upon smear and finds itself lapping up the extremes

like a black spider, the eight legged terror, spinning

its web closer and closer together,

the tighter noose, not able to be crawled through,

let alone brushed aside, for fear of the millions

of tiny despots that will come spewing out if its abdomen

and the afterbirth of disgrace that discharges out of its false

unseen trimmed black moustache.

 

So that paper hates you, you are a hero in my eyes.

Let it call for your head as we denounce the head of the spider,

the media whore who is clearly insane as she searches for soundbite,

afterbite, mouth prattling afterbirth

and the woman whose brain detracts

all her other less endowed and less enamouring attributes at her disposal

as she is taken in hand by the spider’s right hand man,

that paper hates you

well who truly gives a damn, let them come for you,

let them batter down the door with their bully boy headlines

and their sexless anti everything noble agenda.

Let them come for you, a blockade of chairs

will surely enrage further  the throwback of Father figures,

that gets my vote.

Let them come, let them come,

let them be taken apart

and let that hairy, insane, grouchy oaf

of a spider feel the warmth of a brush up its arse

and the terror that a considered, human can bring.

 

Ian D. Hall 2015