the fascist doctor’s petroleum police

Watchful spies over his ring finger
treading lightly on handcuffs
and mint tea, confessions that confuse
the promises of anti-utopian saints

Still, war and dredging of cult monopoly
like a tragicomedy mating toy,
centuries later the fate or pattern
stenosis that have routine canon
endorsement of petroleum police
where the walking beat is curved in whetstone
and throwaway fascism like a doctor’s
makeshift closure, the miniseries virtue and
retraced behavior, at least the symptoms are fast