And the pension crisis
Solved by wolves
Fear in the hollow eyes
The houses, mouths open wide
Respectably shocked
And silent.
They make the air a vice
Pressing like a coming fire
Walking with hands ready
Clenched, missing a rosary
Worry lines like tectonics in streets
And an ad break.
What's the benefit of all this
Orwellian project handed in late
The trail of a small jet
All the clothes a little older
Decorated.
Chop and change like shops
The air is a vice
Invisible wolves in the clouds
There will be looting.
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