The Power of One

They tell us what to do by remote:
our own safety plays the Judas Goat.
We are all our lives observed;
the sea of data keeps them afloat.

See through the Emperor's clothes? It takes one boy:
or one Bulgakov to let the Master play
jokes on approved scribblers
who forget the only question. Why?

I speak in the taverns, the road-side stops,
tell the hidden gospel, sow insurrection's crops.
I pass among you unobserved,
selling truth for the juice of hops.

The Caliphate fell for want of humour,
for lack of respect for the avid consumer
of the juice of grapes preserved,
and the insidious, cur-sly rumour.