When the old poet 

died, the plaudits flowed, but I 

knew him, the bastard  

Bloviate and prance 

while bedlam and affliction 

bloom amid hoopla

Once we were wolves

dancing in moonlight til dawn

now curled by the fire

Amid the rocket's

red glare a history soaked

in blood quickly fades 

Wastrels run amok

trampling long-standing rulings

smirking, smug firebugs 

They want a king til

his hangman comes a calling

with a list in hand 

Demon dream eaters

mild-mannered and unaware

crunch wants like candy