Jeff Burt has contributed to Per Contra, Williwaw Journal, Willows Wept Review, and others.
Time upon once stood, unhid the hideous non-surplus economy-plussed meeting the central banks accumulation meters where Camelot allotters webbed the widow’s mite purse-snatched the coin before it could be counted on.
Came there ruinous runes gut-launched guff-talk that lopped heads cut-off shortened and tongues in mindless chants, carnivalian czars secret acts poking hokum, supersized-stition, pretending to bell-ring in pounded shell prowess that all the people swore they’d heard it, the ring ding ding of dinglyness calling servant-slavering in mass-produced heaps.
O to be a Lollard in e-time, or a Luddite, a Wobbly, perhaps a collared Jacobin!
O to ride a papal bull, to plume like a featherhead, to squawk like a popinjay.
O to fan a cash-wad in the gospel of wealth in the fish-face of the guppy-gullible