DRIVIN' PILES (II)
Examine now an efficacious banshee,
That egg us on to thoughts, false populism.
Be patient, listen carefully,
As crass self-hate segues to patriotism.
The measure of this civilization,
To punt around a phrase, is piles.
Force. That drive for recognition.
Not bombs, but piles. Perfidy and wiles!
Ugly monster sinister floating barely
Brutal on its bouncing driving meta-force
Rusted transom spring lines squarely
Brutal too the sun burnt crew so coarse.
You doubt it not of course?
Noxious stench, cacophony and clashes
Brute anger, steam, aye scream. Sly guile
When it happens as the ramrod smashes
Oil soaked and rust bled drives the pile.
Batter, shatter as our earth vibrates
Spillage oil. Dirt, debris, maul and trawl
Tensely now as mother nature waits.
What exactly is the purpose of it all?