Master Plan

Blank sheets creating the story,
To be scribbled and conjured
With tiny picas affecting symmetry
Until no one but a dummy discerns
How the world will play

Traipse to take hold
While the lead is still disjointed,
Yet breaking under boldface shouts:
Headlines are made
As the dummy is forecasting

What control can there be
If watchdogs cannot bark,
And the only windows that are open
Are nothing but vacant and white?
The dummy fits it in unfairly,
But objectivity prospers

Fret not, stay armed
Bring hooks over the shoulder
And nutgraphs shall follow sleeping
As they read out bluntly only to crack;
Stylize err to undulate actively
As reefers billow as jagged cliffs
And let no scrutiny saunter off
In the parallels of gutters so desiccated,
White, but not as peaches—barren of fruit:
The dummy guides as the piper
Until feature is almost as news
Fitting immaculately into place and peace