I now revise it slightly as "A poem for the Right Dishonourable David Cameron, 'pon the occasion of his indebtedness to his fracking friends, and the unrelated £500,000 paid by them unto the fracking Tory Party, and other sundry accomplishments."
In
Bullingdon did Kubla Cam
A
stately restaurant destroy:
Where
Barf, the lumpy river, ran,
And
damage measureless to normal man
Was
nothing to Bozzer, Oik, and me
So
PR roads in fertile ground
From
walls and towers gilded round:
And
there was a rose garden with sinuous Clegg,
Where
blossomed many a money-bearing tree;
And
there were forests ancient as the hills,
We
vend to fracking friends with glee.
But oh! That deep romantic chasm which granted
Down
Cotswolds hills award a certain cover!
A fracking place! As holy and enchanted
By
woman editing for her demon-lover
And
from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if
this earth no pants were wearing,
An unmighty
fountain momently was fracked:
Amid
whose swift half-intermittent burst
Little
blobs vaulted like rebounding hail,
And
chavvy grain beneath the fracker’s flail:
And
’mid these dancing rocks once and ever
It
flung up momently the sacred river of
Of long
wine’d lunches with mazy motion
Chillaxin’
til the lumpy river ran,
Then
reached the money measureless to normal man,
And
sank into a soulless ocean:
And
’mid this tumult Cam heard from far
Ancestral
voices punishing the poor
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated
midway on the waves;
Where
was heard the mingled measure
From
underneath the jubilee,
It
was miracle of enterprise,
A darken'd dome where sleep and freeze
Those I force to work for free!
A
damsel with a dulcimer
In
a vision once I saw:
It
was an Abyssinian maid,
And
on her dulcimer she played,
Singing
of asylum hope’d for.
Could
I revive within me
Her
symphony and song,
To
such deep delight ’twould win me
That
with music loud and long
I could
build that dome in air,
But
instead I sent the scrounger home
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His vacant eyes, his flopping hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on money-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise
Then
barfed it back into your face.
