Rewind the clock, rewrite the page,
the autotuning of Comrade Corbyn,
Patron Saint of Varicose Veins,
is complete.
‘The dance of the invisibles –
what does that entail?’ he drones/screeches.
‘You can’t rhyme cat with snail, friends,
not even
metaphorically!’
Inconsistent, nihilist non-poet:
of the no one, for the no one, by the no one.
Mensae, mensae, mensas; mensarum, mensis, mensis.
Turn the tables.
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