Corporation Prophets

November 17, 2020

Prophesy unto the wind; for only the wind can hear you”

100% powered by wind” - the blurb about the Mercedes' factory in its latest electric car ad

The BBC? Its mission declaration? So.

How much - in the time it takes to bake a jacket potato -

- not cannabalised, detracted from, by microwave;

washed, forked, and gently set right, on top shelf,

and in the oven -

- comes overspillage of life-lorn tillage lost

And existentially

On piquant, pure-cant, postulation prophecy?

“This is The BBC”

Even the chanticleers have ears to hear it

The vocalists, the variorum salad-shakers

On this theme; that meme; one, two, three


These curved-ball verbal visions are assault and battery

Faster than in a moment, in the course of forty winks

Come filibuster illuminati mustered with hot links

Badge-bearing rosters, hands at canasta, cupboard-thinkers

Every log left unturned thereunder festers

With novel-new self-evident prognoses

Slammed bodily so obviously, as rover's halitosis

Dank ardours where are under rubber stamp collecting beetles

Wood-lice and slugs that 'cook-straight-from-the-packet' peoples

Might squidge

As one by one thuds break like ninepins fall

And numbers to incumbents' combinations whir, click - and then - lo!

Safe bets are opened

While-away talk; talk for the hoary forward-thinkers

Iterations inbetweentimes into intermediacy

Otherwise slow the moping hours will crawl sepulchrally

Along the clock, which mocks, tic-tock, sarcastically

Declaring to their towers of heady vantage-point,

To coat-hangers whose jam cliffhanging fascinations

Those faculties to which such oceans of commotion wind

Loud latter-day flattery-homilies, hope's furlough pay

Pendulum-fulls sufficiently to raise a rolled momentum

Or as like paddling pools – with right to buy – don't rent them

Rather these are ditches factual, which disposal of one's bunkum

Might blight, fly-tipped by hand-picked for-the-referendum

Hopes-auctioneers; having clearance to invent them

On rainy Sundays

For this odd-fish the corporation pays

Employs, ingratiates, with orbital high billing,

A name, and zimmerframe researchers,

To close on those moist sweetspot underbellies

The hacks that back the facts, that simulacrum

Of toys as toiletries that clean the nation's bathroom

Of a million misdemeanours

Their stations take our edification to the cleaners

As were they Chinese leaders

Pongo goes that way; ergo: Pongo, he is wrong

Pongo goes this way; what!; that Pongo is so dumb!

Sligo however, even his leather shoes

Hold probity

This is the news; and all the views; your loyal moiety

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