THe WiDeNiNG FIAT GYRe (THe CeNTRaL BaNKeR CaNNoT HoLD)

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AT THE SPHINX

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THE WIDENING FIAT GYRE

WilliamButler7

 

TURNING and turning like a runaway tyre

The HP falcon cannot hear the HP falconer;

Things fall apart; the Central Banker cannot hold;

Market anarchy is loosed upon the world,

The blood-dimmed fiat tide is loosed, and everywhere

The ceremony of innocence is drowned;

The best lack all conviction, while the worst

Are full of passionate intensity.

 

Surely some revelation is at hand;

Surely the Third Easing is at hand.

The Third Easing! Hardly are those words out

When a vast image straight out of the Simpson's

Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert

A shape with lion body and the head of a PhD canard,

A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,

Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it

Reel shadows of indignant pundit birds.

The darkness drops again; but now I know

That twelve months of stony sleep

Were vexed to nightmare by a gold plated tungsten dreidel,

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,

Slouches towards Maiden Lane to be reborn?