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Homo In Domum Aeternitatis Suae
They are afraid of that which is held high,
and fear besets them on their stumbling way.
And so, boasting about their honest hearts
(those narrow, shallow cesspools) they deny
the precedents of a more ancient day
that did not break the whole down to small parts
that could not function, and just failed to stay
the sublte slide, greasegrimed and slippery,
that draws what little proper poetry
our age can muster into entropy---
an offering to their false god, VastVoid,
which is enraged, threatened, piqued, and annoyed
by all literary propriety;
to VastVoid's will, these shammers are deployed.
Most terrified by any skillfully constructed poem,
these bumblers flee to cower in VastVoid's shadowed long home,
where paid, pimped pipers play the tunes VastVoid's minions prefer,
the fugue-u and shrieks in Reconjugate NonSequitur.
q.v.
