If I lived in a poem (and I think I do)
the gateway sign would proclaim
Jabberwocky, place of post-true.
There would be lovely words to sound
yet meaning would vary from left to right
till my head gyres round and round
as something slythy in the shadows creep
hissing, fizzling, brillig rhetoric, pretending
to be informed media to all the gullible sheep.
I’m mimsey as a mome at the sneaky Rath
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
I fear a future that holds a bloodybath.
We need a vorpal sword to go snicker-snack
at falsehoods and lies and rabble-rousing talk
but Jubjub bird and Bandersnatch only click-clack.
They care much more of politics; power is a drug
and here I’m stuck in Jabberwock
waiting for someone to jerk the proverbial rug.
This helped inform my understanding: