Who are we to scoff at Fools?
Deluded, snarling, breaking rules.
Snow queens, set to underwhelm,
sit frozen in this blue-lit realm.
Fingers draped in strong, gold belts,
(To cover up the zits and welts).
Countdown to those out of reach;
Sweet entrails cling to pits of peach.
They need to see it: friend or neighbour.
Photocopy, echo chamber.
Send. Refresh. We’re living here.
Eyes are vacant (or so I hear).
So share a tonin, or two, or ten,
To lock out noise, and us, and them.