Beneath the honored branches

Writhe the tentacles of the deep state.

Fault lines appear and our heads

Nod with assurance

At the movements of the deep ones.

 

We acknowledge their under-lordship

As if they walked among us for

We see their instigations

In the craft of our enemies.

 

Our prophets foreshadow

Every twitching impulse,

Every alarm.

We will never be caught unsuspecting.

 

Buried in the depths,

They never dare rise to meet us.

Their utmost power lurks in the dark

Of imagination.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The “deep state” had to be imagined:

Parasitical, sapping power and initiative

From the unsuspecting host.,

Much like the subconscious undermines

The confidence and authority of the Conscious.

Like the adversary conjured in stressful times

To divert attention from the decay,

The perishing pillars.