Poem: Start Super-Spreading The News
You weathered the storm, you dug up the lawn, you set up tent-city, got drunk on the fumes of phoney and phoned-in power; swapped bottled water for canned entitlement – laughed off the allegations of intimidation by flashing a peace sign and dancing badly to shit-reggae.
But you haven’t changed a thing, not least those itchy undies. The cops have let you…
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