In London-town of yore but
yet, even to this very day,slovenly bovine herd
together on conveyor belts.
Chewing cud, eschewing
mud, unconsciously mooving
to have their carotids cut.
Alas, indignant adults,
aren’t we, too, on a slow
march to our own deaths?
Like vermin labyrinthine
lab rats trapped in some
spider’s web—we’re all
ultimately pawns in some
twisted game of Chess.
No comments:
Post a Comment