A change in the air reminds me of twenty minutes lost,
alert to the waltz a virtuous murmuration of starlings gave.
A fabulous swirling smoke of beating, iridescent wings, and assuring cries.
The ubiquitous birds hopping after insects, rising as one mass from the lawn
that evening became a swoosh, a concert, a dance rising and falling, a twisting
and turning of synchronised swimming on the fluid
broiling air. A smoke curling above the dark tree-line their flight of fancy.
Currently, a vicious parliament rings to a decade of got-you’s.
The debate, a pixilated landscape of noise
swirling through digital platforms, flying upward
toward a vector of warbling publishers
to meet more misdirection and gaslighting.
Media gathers there, for debate curling over
and through sensibility, yet loses nothing
of the awful, fascinating, and ceaseless filibuster
of truth lived by half the population denied a roost,
swooping toward a light shining upon raw truth,
now a boisterous law of prevailing opinion circles Canberra .
A wrecking ball of justice might just smash the Canberra Bubble this term.
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