Secretary of Interpretation

An official was anointed
Standing proudly in a colonnaded hall
Popular belief whispered: everything will be over soon
But that wasn’t true
Repetition would fill in the gaps
And beliefs so lofty reality is greeted with a mere brush of a cold shoulder

Much to be optimistic about, if you think about it
Cold condescension still offers a type of morality
Something palatable and life affirming
Dead yellow grass accompanies fanfare

A weekend respite is just another desperate jubilee
The plastic crown was passed ceremoniously
An official absorbs too much attention
He must go, back to me
The self-appointed self-made man


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