nice poem, Zad. I hope "to be continued" isn't a cheap trick to get people to vote just to see the other half..
Code:
"Cogency (or Almost Halfway There)"
Polite applause
is all you'll get
in this world, hon.
So please yourself.
Six layers of crushed velvet and
laser-highlighted sequins spray
glitter onto gleaming faces.
The jaws of tradition scream, "Encore!"
but no more confetti pours down.
They'll remember your opulence.
Time's up. Your lacquered-on grin runs.
Again you return to the page,
so brandish your swan-feather quill.
I. "Epitaph arranged for
the National Anthem;
no question of
allegiance
to your fellow man's cause.
Soon the Olympic flame
will dwindle and recede
and we'll eschew
competition
for comfort in an ice age.
So when they drop it next,
a blanket of dissent
will fling terror
into the air,
detonating harmlessly."
This canvas is too far stained
with the blood of predecessors
to ever hold your manifesto.
..and then, let's see you backflip on to your own shoulders!
..and then, let's hear what you have to say once you're there.
II. "Inscrutability is your
seventh safety net;
Irony is your sixth.
Sanity hops from juke to juke.
Imagine the will which
draws parallel lines.
Perhaps Pandora should have drilled a hole in the lid?
Elpis would at least be able to breathe.
You could be quoting puzzlebooks;
These curs have no time
for exegesis.
Discussion is a dance of veils;
All nuance gagged and
bound to the maypole."
A deaf diary - folly has drawn
your margins too generously;
now there is no room left to write.
Polite applause
is all you'll get
in this world, hon.
So start clapping.
III. "Your moral heptagon
means naught to me.
Solomon's seal reflects
the truth I see.
A pantheon of gods,
all dead but three:
Motive, trust and irony; motive, trust and irony."
Polite applause
is all you'll get
in this world, hon.
So please yourself.
Six layers of crushed velvet and
laser-highlighted sequins spray
glitter onto gleaming faces.
The jaws of tradition scream, "Encore!"
but no more confetti pours down.
They'll remember your opulence.
Time's up. Your lacquered-on grin runs.
Again you return to the page,
so brandish your swan-feather quill.
I. "Epitaph arranged for
the National Anthem;
no question of
allegiance
to your fellow man's cause.
Soon the Olympic flame
will dwindle and recede
and we'll eschew
competition
for comfort in an ice age.
So when they drop it next,
a blanket of dissent
will fling terror
into the air,
detonating harmlessly."
This canvas is too far stained
with the blood of predecessors
to ever hold your manifesto.
..and then, let's see you backflip on to your own shoulders!
..and then, let's hear what you have to say once you're there.
II. "Inscrutability is your
seventh safety net;
Irony is your sixth.
Sanity hops from juke to juke.
Imagine the will which
draws parallel lines.
Perhaps Pandora should have drilled a hole in the lid?
Elpis would at least be able to breathe.
You could be quoting puzzlebooks;
These curs have no time
for exegesis.
Discussion is a dance of veils;
All nuance gagged and
bound to the maypole."
A deaf diary - folly has drawn
your margins too generously;
now there is no room left to write.
Polite applause
is all you'll get
in this world, hon.
So start clapping.
III. "Your moral heptagon
means naught to me.
Solomon's seal reflects
the truth I see.
A pantheon of gods,
all dead but three:
Motive, trust and irony; motive, trust and irony."
