The nest is chocked with sentimental thieves.
Washed-out cries ferment the hose factory.
Criminal justice is replaced with hysterical laughter.
All for the better: the stocks are going rotten,
not a plague in sight, and the bars full of beaters,
painful music producing prodigious polyphony.
Clocks, dropped like breadcrumbs, bewitch.
Compulsive compassion is the last dying thread.
A large blanket of forgiveness has been draped
over the various prisons, and onto the horizon.