Leering at the garish tele-hue pall cast over perhaps a less-listless-these-days clump; those heads of state and their houses of cards seem to be falling down, down, down. But with an elated finger cross and unfocused retina... let's hope the 21st century dada doesn't elope with its cousin, the 21st century Kafka. Them's bad progeny, surely, and a quiver full of shudders to behold. Or meb's it's already there, and the burns and crowds will be duped again: placed into boxes and ignored by the secretaries and ministers and governors and such, whom tout their respect for all the clamor, all the while patting their rifle butts.
(eyes used for tooth support)
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