Full Disclosure Poem by Terence Winch

The way things come apart. Information leaks
all over you. Sharon was nude. We refused to eat
on the basis of video surveillance dogma. My salad
is in a persistent vegetative state. Meat means war.

The drums joined in from up above, as though
our scans matched your phone records. Everything
is legal, everything is wrong. I get a bad result
out of you. I can't give you anything but habeas corpus.

Imagine you are playing tennis. Now imagine the ball
breaks the window in a blue house where violins lurk unseen.