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HOWLING PRESS
It can’t hold back, its passion flies with bolting spheres that sicken, That float upon a dragon’s sighs that make the world’s breath quicken.
Its CPR might resurrect a short-term, needed furlough But long term forecasts can expect a hellbent, reddened cash-flow.
Seducing you with spider webs, insidiously courting, Too slow you sense its tight’ning blebs, you’re caught in its supporting.
It mounts and mounts, a giant squid, lascivious, sepulchrous. It wants you in its pan-world grid, desired, diseased, adult’rous.
The CCP’s love yearns to hug the wide world, never-ending, And so it gifts this death-kiss bug whose death-wish is still pending.
POLITICAL POETRY