Battery-operated soliloquy bequeaths

            lessons in bumptious authority

Shouted from the mouths of battery-operated politicians

 

Manderian king floats by, as some strange man

            photographs poets and disappears into the wall.

Vinyl grooves. Miles moves like an engorged Goyt

            but asks “Where are my socks?”

 

Ai is eating itself, while we all keep on dancing

to the Beatles who are meant to be making

            a comeback with Mozart

 

I AM THE DARKNESS OF THE BURNT OUT BLUE FLAME

 

Paranormal thinking was all around my palace

            with plaintive bugles calling from sad shires

 

Did the photographer capture the words on display?

Mournful yes, cheerful no,

Moaning Larkin in the evening glow of frozen night.