V for Victory
Odd some would say:
even under barren blue skies, 
floating golden eyes, 
I picture a life on the bum;
to bum about without purpose 
without sight,
a vagrant once victorious
hugging tiny tree stumps 
and licking bark for breakfast. 

Though most fantasies fail to ignite
this forest will burn, the rage turn
from silent idleness 
to idle silence. 

A sunburned bum
licking the boils 
of the mindless proliferation
of madness — V for Victory 

& woe.