PRIME MINISTER
I watch him eating meat by the curtained wall :
a caveman eating a catch. Like something rich and
delicious; juices of men slobber down his lips.
God, this all makes me sick. I take my warrant and
read my breviary - Greek words, sidelong without
meaning, holy stuff about boys and Gods. If I had
a hidden agenda, even I would be a teacher of men.
As it is, my whistle is just a chuckle in front of some
screen, a pose of moment, a laugh track for the stars
and planets. I stand unabated, just running on.
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