Ants on Grains

If you see them dressed on bathrobe
Their eyes are full of orgy,
Orgy after orgy, a warm, snug toilet.
They owned their parodies to bikinis of deceit
On the scaffolds of their campaigning.
When you see ants on orgies of grains
Bear in mind, their columns are filled with blinkers
Linseed and imbroglio strings. Oily panties.
Gruesome fielders like the oldies junkies.
And the whittling clouds, calculates their fishes.
When the channels of votes are opened
And the fielding of various voters come in as a pack of jokers
Quickly realize their multitudinous ineptitudedness
For these consters whore from one party to another
 If the vodka in their soda water remains the same
So the followership joins and jumps into their shard wagon.
Then those who dress their bathroom
Finds a means to opine on columns
For a lousy soul seeks to end its idiosyncratic idleness
To give up my life to the likes of you, one shouted
Is to filled the gob of these scandalous revolutions
Then the bed is open to seductress to join freely.
~Martin Ijir

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