The Hoarchive

—Can this be Warwick?—

This fevered shrieking from an idealist’s heart?

A West Midlands body rends itself apart?

Warwick; the city’s hands’ invocation,

Bland-incense senses psuedo-titillation?

And Warwick, this halting, dashing, draining,

It’s incoherent Koan face pealing?

This Croft’s eye rolling, Ave-deadline calling,

The fake-ecstatic, corporate rhyming?

—Can this be Warwick?—

You stand now at a threshold: so take heed!

For what you hear is WBS — WBS’s Worldess Creed!