twisting and turning in the widening money pit
the cow can not hear its own bell;
everything falls apart; the center is no longer bold;
piss reigns and shit rules in our world;
the pockmarked hide slips loose, and everywhere
the contracting process is suborned;
the best give up, while the worst
rise with frantic commitment.
surely some conflagration is at hand;
surely the Second Funding is at hand;
the Second Funding! hardly are those words out
when a gruesome visitation from Spiritus Fundi
disturbs my sight: somewhere in the primordial ooze
a shape with rhino body and head of sour cabbage,
a visage glassy-eyed and moronic as a teddy bear,
is sloshing its flabby thighs, while all about it
circle the petrified shadows of reeling incumbents.
the darkness crashes down again; but now I know
that fifty years of slimy creeps
were spoon-fed to power with a papermache ladle,
and now what loathsome quota-filling beast,
its free ride come round at last,
slouches toward Washington to be funded?
