Another Morning Not In The Bronx. =========================== Yestermorn, when some had thought to have Shorn Nonmaldoraur of acquisition Older than their disposition to, grave Upon the universe the lave money Might save, but we will not, no way, know how Akin to the baboon whim, an him who Had been caught, five more having saught to hew The woulds of just what he could do now, through Their oversight position, policemen more Corrupt than civil outrage did erupt Into existence, with a persistence Borne of an insistence that the body They had found in his van, which they had manned Of the afternoon after the morning In which he had thought the itch to murder Left his service job, so superficial, Looking like it was so superficial That, once ensnared, of his first attempt, where He had thought to bury things in the woods, Having denied the customer with pride In his savoir faire of have no care, lied With such aplomb, said the man should be home Before long, before long service became, For him, keeping his job, and murdering Whom it seemed he had a mind to, while four Made sure he did it more, and one had stood Off to the side, and another five did Wait all day, some distance away, yester Morn, when it were Nonmaldoraur to be Shorn of an acquisition older than their Desire to do so, and more, He could not Count, recount, for you now how many, not Having passed on through, down the line that tined Of the tare expression that expressed tare, Nonmaldoraur not having been there, where He saw they were, His will a having to Not concur, nor expectation conquest Should become of what He saw to, that wan Would be their prospecting, where long ago Gold fields gave way to mining concessions, Government processions, and armies low On the radar enough to be policemen, To please Men; to please men ! Nonmaldoraur Must not be a Man: He is not pleased, Not By a long shot His formula Now, nor rot Nor notice to be paid Him, nor money To come His way from murder, nor any Need to herd a loadadummdumms to be Seeing to what must needs be, Him living free, Not in service to some others no one Could call brothers, who once called, did insist, That a service man, bored with serving in A store, did persist in service more, lent His very life to them, and corruption Of expectation, the market place must So grace a Nation that one within it Kills, spills the beans to only a select Few, Democracy so renewed of meaning It takes on such a facile seeming, teeming So, that teaming is disruption to no Doubt, what have we in the hereabout, limn Of such a fragile vim as service That anarchy be piecemeal rescension Antecedant an ascension, subtle Lift greater than any graver gift time Has yielded Him while of Earth so mundane That humans around Him should not refrain From wishing Him gone; He will be so ere Long, be it decades, it will be an eon In the currents happenstance, so befouled Of circumstance modern philosophy Did not chance to declare beyond the lair Of brains and words, basic bodily needs, And surds more suited to primate herds as The servicemen throw turds into the stream Of was this once a mighty dream, a Ganges, Such a capital admission the mission Of civilisation were lost, at what cost, Even as so many boast they have gone The most, awesome their endeavours, the toast To whatever it is, He must drink from that Stream, or find some other, beyond this one, This planet, where it seems that they no longer Care enough to share themselves with it, flare And begone the stronger song to most than We understand there is a future Man Of which we might not boast, to anyone; At what cost He knows The encouragement of blows Setting sights so low Solo seems the way to go, As it always was, although There were a time when The Brotherhood of Men sang More in the van than There were waiting others to Demand more service from whom, Fascistic baboon Rage having become, at this Stage in what must be A New Aeon, so very Acceptable parable Nonmaldoraur doubts Human beings are about, Degenerate so Their mammalian knowledge flow, Will it ever grow again, Burst beyond the banks Of polluted thoughts and tanks Which ensure something More than mere survivalling Conduct merely rivalling And Him scriballing To people who would not know Hypocritic oath Like a jungle undergrowth Even a Bronx would detest. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Posted on: Thu, 18 Dec 2014 21:01:52 +0000
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