‘What could make it matter said ‘mad hatter’ of main street?.. One comes in another leaves.. politics own beat..
Meanwhile in a small room closet bound forevermore.. the whiskey sipping.. nonsense gripping man of holy war..
What a fool not knowing tools he works with those of hate.. takes example from killers who seek to change our fate..
Holy war? A bloody bore yet that is what he shouts.. hoping mom and dad can hear his faith.. rabble he touts..
In the mind of little where he finds nought but himself.. wants to set his favorite human toys.. his insane shelf.. cannot ever know it for he blew it long ago.. when his mouth and bluster bought him his own
I thought to write a poem of substance.. as I sand my toes.. but why write something exoteric.. everybody knows?..