Ministrations

Pull your finger out,
lager lout,
have a care
if you dare,
and shout
about it,
if you doubt it
A pyrrhic victory
for liquored up dicks
in the ministry,
as silence reigns
on rush hour trains,
our tongues
are stilled,
from mouths fed full
and pockets filled
Thoughts
are censored,
fenced off
with a tense cough,
behind hands
we once
determined as good,
but now find
no longer kind,
and grip slipping,
from the dripping
of indiscriminate blood