Valium, Land of the Vulgar, it seems,
features some real-estate made up of dreams
parceled out absent competitive schemes,
"built" by The Owner for his chosen teams:
“Angels” who mouth metaphysical memes;
“Demons” who thump theological themes.
Boron and Lithium, man and elf female,
teamed up to perpetrate – down to the detail –
theft of a mineral stone (cheap at retail):
Morbid’s crown missing a rock, now for resale.
Lithium’s dad asked his girl why should she wail?
Boron knew that he’d get shafted should he fail.
Where do the Halfwits come into this story?
Trying to separate Labor from Tory,
What should we call them? A “truck” or a “lorry”?
Do they not serve as an apt allegory:
Rustic and “Middle” and “common” and hoary?
Who, if not them, will suffice as pure quarry?
Somehow this story sounds already told,
Like a stale meal having long since grown cold;
Fetid like swamp water covered with mold;
Reeking of avarice; done; over sold;
Amateur alchemy: tin made from gold;
Narrative nonsense: escape from the fold.
Michael Murry, "The Misfortune Teller," Copyright © 2021