Lord knows a little candour here and every muscle hurts,
There, and if He’s good at it we remember that we prayed; skirt
The issue if you’ve a mind to. Sooner or later, someone gets the point
With their hundred butts in a basket and their no’s out of joint
With the times…and people; even the seasons yawn crawling
To freedom through the pipelines, conduits, and air ducts, and mauling
The lungs because process is the watchword and filters’re worse than air.
Well, someone’s construct forgot to think on this and care
Enough to clear the air and slit sufficient throats when they had the chance:
It follows: shallow breathing, simplify the vocabulary. Thus, at first glance,
Truths are obvious because at last everyone understands—nothing short
Of brilliant timing—worthy detection, to be sure, merit in report,
But then the process stalls, the casualties mount, the issues dodged.
Not even Mao lives forever: Obama lives here, you know;
even so, his house is his mirage.