...and the beat goes on

GEORGEE, STONED AND LOVING IT!

It’s the deranged roundelay of rusted sabers glistening in the smog in which the lie speaks truth and truth lies as the lie becomes gospel while cackling old men snort oil dust by the barrelful by the dawns early light of blazing funeral pyres where children cry in hunger as their ashes float into the arms of their loving God who dips his thumb their ashes to smudge the sign of the cross on the old men’s forehead as they scream orders through their megaphones to empty drones circling the deserts, hunched over their game boards moving broken pieces from one shattered square to the next while in the basement machinery groans and shrieks as parts rust and break to the booming beat of martial music while troubadours screech in the background their cries muffled by the bored trumpets sounding the call to arms.

It’s a turnturnturn on, georgee.

B.