The Tipping Point

It's there on the tipping point of our tongues
requiring only breath to voice the hopes that form
the cusp of clarity,

articulating the dropped coin;
the falling into place of change
speaking itself into being.

Words are the currency
of the realms between
thought and action;

the seeds of fruition
grown in the humus
of possibility.

We are now in the provincial aftermath
of neo-liberalism swept
aside by emboldened ideologues
whose sequence of theories
are an underlay of corruption
sandwiched under populism
in a spread of kleptocracy
feeding the pillagers of the commons
in the name of austerity;

a fat cat diet of machinations
nurture an endless rapacity.

The tipping point is already in motion,
neo-liberalism shoved beyond  retrieval
by demagogues dancing on the tipping edge;

but a majority do not even need to cross the axle line;
just enough of us,

to use the weight of their own corruption
to upset the applecart for good.